


Sisters of the Inquisition

by FlytsOfAngels



Series: Reflections of the Dragon Age [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 78,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6369964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlytsOfAngels/pseuds/FlytsOfAngels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mage/templar war burns across Thedas, drawing the Amell/Hawke sisters out of their hide-away in the Hunterhorn Mountains to try to protect the people who will suffer as a result.  But they soon discover that the war is part of a larger plan -- created by a being that Hawke had thought that she had killed.  The sisters and their lovers fight at the edges of the battle, always being drawn toward the Western Approach and the fateful battle between the forces of the army that Corypheus is trying to raise and the Inquisition.</p><p>If you enjoyed this tale, you're invited to enjoy the first story of Rhoane Amell in A Cure for a King or the follow-up, Two Witches and a Scoundrel, which creates all the relationships continued in this work ...</p><p>Comments always welcome ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One • Chapter One • Rhoane Amell

“Idiots!” Jaya exclaimed in that frustrated tone of voice that Rhoane had learned to know so well. She wasn’t at all surprised when her sister reached over her shoulder and grasped the long, deadly looking dagger strapped there. She was even less surprised when it was angrily hurled across the room, embedding itself in the smooth wood of a supporting upright and vibrating there rapidly — side to side — as if to encapsulate all of the emotion that was trapped inside Jaya’s trim body.

At least, Rhoane reflected silently, my sister’s aim hasn’t suffered after these weeks of idleness.

“More roaches?” Bethany, her other sister, asked, leaning one shoulder against the doorway that she had been entering.

Hawke turned quickly to her, that edge of temper still thundering in the space between her eyebrows. “Yes, by the Maker! Giant five- to six-foot tall cockroaches that all need to be stomped!”

Rhoane smiled gently and looked back down at the tight, black handwriting that filled the small parchment in her hand. “I hate to remind you of this, Jaya,” she said quietly, “but both Bethany and I are about to become two of those giant cockroaches you want to stomp.”

Bethany crossed to stand behind her chair. “We are?” she questioned. “Did we learn to be shape-shifters when I wasn’t looking?”

“The College of Magi is calling a conclave of the First Enchanters,” Hawke steamed, striding across the limited space of the common room that was the center of their daily lives. “The rumor is that they are going to ask the Circles to decide whether the mages should remain under the protection of the Chantry and the templars or whether they should be independent.”

“They are?” Bethany gasped. Rhoane watched as the startled wonder quickly turned to a suspicious pout on her youngest sister’s unguarded face. “Independent how?”

“Independent of the Chantry. Independent of the templars.” Jaya had paced back toward Rhoane and, reaching her side, snatched the scrap of paper from her fingers. “Independent of any reason not to burn all of Thedas to the ground.” She thrust the paper toward Bethany and growled, “Independent of any reason whatsoever.”

“Honestly, Sister?” Bethany laughed lightly, pushing the Champion of Kirkwall’s hand away. “You don’t think that even one of us can be reasonable about the future of all mages across Thedas.”

Jaya stalked across the common room again and stopped where her dagger remained pinned into the wall. Placing both hands on the rough-hewn wood, she leaned forward until her forehead rested near the blade of her long knife. Rhoane watched closely, noticing the stormy tension in her sister’s muscular strength and the hand that curled into a tight fist against the wooden wall. It hadn’t been that many months that they had been so closely together — and despite the fact that, until recently, she hadn’t even known she had two younger sisters — she was certain that she could understand what drove Jaya’s tension. She was afraid. Again. Afraid for her sister.

Sisters, Rhoane reminded herself. And perhaps that was what made Jaya rage with so little restraint. Both of her sisters were in danger, because of the College of Magi.

The College was in some ways the governing board for all of the mages of Thedas, the senior scholars and venerable experts who created the guidelines for behavior that all those who were openly called “mages” should follow. Of course, the College of Magi had no control over the apostate mages who had either escaped from Chantry monitoring or had never been turned over to the templars, but Rhoane had a hard time thinking of even one mage that she had grown up with at the tower in the middle of Lake Calenhad who had refused to follow the dictates of the College of Magi. Their word was law. The circle mages followed — with some debate, yes — but usually with little reluctance.

But at this point, she asked herself honestly, was there really anyone to make certain that mages followed the edicts of the College of Magi? From the intelligence that they had gathered from their hide-away in the Anderfels, the members of the Chantry and the templars were as divided as the mages, arguing from one extreme to the other within a matter of seconds. Some demanded the complete destruction of every mage who drew breath, while others insisted that the Maker would want each of his children treated with compassion. It was an old story, this diverse range of opinion on the fate of mages, and Rhoane doubted that she would ever see it resolved.

I suppose I should have asked the Maker about it when we met him, she thought, lifting one hand to rub at the worry lines that had formed on her forehead. But then again, I had other things to think about, didn’t I? A tiny smile crept across her face at the memory of the green meadow and snowy griffons. And Abelas, begging to be married to her. 

The sound of her name, spoken repeatedly and more forcefully with each iteration, finally drew her attention. She lifted her head to see two pair of eyes, one as brown as her own and the other grey like the mists that had often hung over Lake Calenhad, staring intently at her. Lifting an eyebrow, she looked from one sister to the other, trying to discover what she had missed when she had dropped out of their conversation.

“I’m sorry. I was wool-gathering,” she apologized. “What did I miss?”

Hawke frowned at her, her delicate brows pressing together in the space above her eyes. “We were just trying to figure out whether we have any responsibility of any kind in this insanity that the mages are contemplating.”

“It seems appropriate,” Bethany said, tugging at the hem of her Grey Warden uniform, “that — as mages — Rhoane and I attend.”

“And as Grey Wardens,” Hawke argued, pacing down the wooden floor, “there’s no reason at all for you to be there. You’re already liberated from all the strictures of the Chantry, and you’re already protected from the templars by dedication to the order.”

“Maybe,” Rhoane said tentatively, “but from all of the reports that we’ve received, it doesn’t seem to be stopping some of them. I think that many of the templars are valuing their vows above their reason.”

Rhoane saw the frown on her sister’s face deepen, but the usually sharp-tongued rogue kept the thoughts that were angering her to herself. The Grey Warden Commander wondered whether she shouldn’t press her sister, to remind the Champion of Kirkwall that it was safe for her to share her opinions, no matter how heretical or controversial they may be. She’d never known her sister to hold back with her or their other sister, Bethany, even when she risked making one of them uncomfortable or annoyed. And she was usually as free with her ideas with the other people who had gathered at their little village by the eluvian that Rhoane had discovered.

Maybe that was why Hawke had become more reserved in the last few months: their little group had grown into a village. After Stroud and Bethany, Jaya and Fenris, Anders and Clement, and she and Abelas had started moving out into the surrounding countryside — regularly, but never leaving their slowly growing home base unoccupied — and sharing their plans for a safe-haven for mages, they had begun attracting the hunted and the disenfranchised among those who could wield magic. Hawke had insisted that they create rigorous vetting standards for anyone coming into their company; Fenris and Abelas ensured that no one saw either the Hero of Ferelden or the Champion of Kirkwall until the two elves had been completely reassured that the most high-profile members of their family would be safe. Luckily, they had managed to weed out a couple of templars in disguise and some of the more radical of the mages who came to them that way. Rhoane was certainly grateful for the efforts that everyone around them continued to make to keep them all safe.

Yes, they were safe here. But she couldn’t say the same thing for mages across Thedas.

Sighing, Rhoane rose from her chair and walked to the door that led to the little square in front of their house. After opening it, she leaned against the frame and stared out at the quiet passing of daily life. The mages who noticed her nodded or waved as they passed, but no one bothered to cross to speak with her. She knew it would have been the same if Jaya had taken her place — less likely if it had been Bethany. The reputations preceded them, even here, and the people in their village had a hard time thinking of Rhoane as less than the Hero of Ferelden, ender of the Fifth Blight, and the person who placed King Alistair on the throne. Jaya’s résumé seemed in many ways more dire: the Champion of Kirkwall; escapee from Ferelden; victor of a duel to the death with the Arishok, the leader of the Qunari; and commander of the group that both had caused the death of the leader of Kirkwall’s chantry and had killed the possessed leader of the Kirkwall templars. If she hadn’t been who she was, Rhoane might think twice about walking toward Hawke to engage her in casual conversation, too.

“Not exactly how we pictured it, is it?” Jaya whispered in her ear. When she looked over her shoulder, Rhoane met her sister’s misty-grey eyes and saw some glimmer of understanding reflected there. Sighing heavily, she turned away, crossing her arms over her chest.

“It never could have become what either of us saw, Jaya,” she said softly in reply. “There are people involved, after all.”

Her sister’s soft laugh drifted into her ears. “That would be the problem, of course. I suppose we should be happy that it’s worked this long.” Jaya pressed forward against Rhoane’s shoulder, leaning out of the doorway to look around the village center. “We’re going to have to leave it, you know.”

The Hero of Ferelden nodded. She’d understood that from the moment she had read the first few lines scrawled on the scrap of parchment. Looking around the square, she studied the faces that passed, knowing that their smiles could quickly be wiped away, especially from the threat of templars. They would have to act to protect the precious feeling of peace that these mages had been able to find here, and part of that protection would mean that they would have to leave.

She pushed away from the door jamb and turned to face her sister. Bethany had also crossed to the opening, but she had stopped a pace or so behind her elder sisters, her arms folded on her chest, waiting. Rhoane smiled at her and took a small step back into the room.

“Do we need to consult with everyone before we make a decision?” she asked, knowing what her sisters would say before she asked.

Hawke shook her head. “Fenris will follow me into the jaws of death itself if I wanted him to. The only problem that I can see is his deep hatred of all mages — well, not all mages, I guess. But most.”

“A vote that frees the mages from the oversight of the templars,” their Grey Warden sister said, “won’t sit well with him. He’s going to become more suspicious and more angry again, Jaya. You know that, right?”

The Champion of Kirkwall nodded and ran her slender fingers through her light brown hair. “I know. But I’m counting on his desire to keep me safe overriding those past impulses.”

Smiling, Rhoane reached out to touch her sister’s arm. “He does put you first. Trust that.”

Jaya nodded and stared down at the toe of her boot, which she scuffed against the wood of the floor in front of her. “So, rationally, Fenris is with me.”

Rhoane looked over at Bethany. “And Stroud?”

“He’s been ordered to report, finally, and I had thought to go with him. But now, with this vote being called …” Her eyes lost their focus, as if their youngest sister was trying to see into the fog of the future. “He must go in to one of the Grey Warden command posts, but perhaps …”

“What are you thinking, Bethany?” Hawke asked.

“It only seems reasonable that the Grey Wardens at least monitor the mages, don’t you think?” she said slowly. “If I can convince the commander where we report to assign at least me to that mission, then I will have a reason to be at the vote.”

Rhoane frowned. “Can a garrison commander issue that kind of order? Wouldn’t that be something that could only be assigned by the commanders at Weisshaupt?”

Her youngest sister shrugged. “It’s a place to start at least. And it gives me a reason to be eyes and ears at the vote. Even if it is supposed to be only for First Enchanters.”

“Being a Grey Warden also gives you a reason not to vote,” Hawke pointed out reasonably. “The choice has no effect on you — yea or nay. You are sworn to your duty first, so you wouldn’t be expected to voice an opinion toward either side of the question. It might be the best way to find out what’s happening from the center of all the action for once.”

“We need a way for me to be there, too,” Rhoane said.

“No!” Bethany and Jaya shouted at the same time.

“You don’t need to be there,” Hawke continued. “There’s no reason. You can get reports from Bethany.”

Rhoane stared into the distance, smiling gently. They know better, she thought. They know that they can’t keep me away, but they’re certainly going to try.

“Abelas will be with me,” she said. “He will go where I go and protect me as he can.”

“What about Leandra?” Bethany asked quietly.

Rhoane looked down at her fingertips, opening and closing her hands for a few moments. It might seem that she was considering her options, but there was only one choice that she could make. “Leandra will come with her parents. As it should be.”

“No!” Hawke exploded again. “You can’t risk her! She’s all we have left. She’s our only future.”

“But I couldn’t live if I was away from her,” the Grey Warden Commander said softly. “And neither could Abelas. We’ll keep her safe. I swear.”

Hawke slammed her clenched fist against the wood of the doorway beside her, turning away from her sisters to stare out at the slanting shadows of the late afternoon. “Maker take them all,” she cursed.

“I agree,” Bethany said, slipping an arm around her sister’s waist. “But so much easier to damn them in person, Jaya. Let’s get to work.”


	2. Part One • Chapter Two • Jaya Hawke

She turned onto her side, tugging at the heavy, woolen blanket that was supposed to be covering her shoulders. The material repositioned reluctantly, and Jaya grunted at the effort it took to move it into the place where she wanted it to be. It should be easier, she thought. After all these weeks of living in their little village, she should feel comfortable — comforted — and secure when she was here. She should be able to sleep in her own bed, in her own room, in her own wing of the house.

Throwing herself onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling of her room, watching the little bits of dust float in the moonlight that seeped through the window. She pulled at the blanket again, trying to tuck it down under her armpits. Cursing under her breath, she wondered what had possessed them to settle here in this Maker-forsaken climate, where warm days usually meant cold nights. Maybe she had gotten too soft, living on the coast in Kirkwall, where the temperature was tolerable most of the year. From what she could remember of Lothering, her parents’ home in Ferelden, the weather was less than consistently pleasant.

At the thought of her parents, she turned onto her side again, dragging the blanket with her. The chill that threatened to overwhelm her seemed to have nestled into her heart, spreading down from the center of her being until she could feel the icy touch on her fingertips and toes. Which made no sense to her at all. She was covered almost to the top of her head with blankets. There was no reason for her to be cold.

Except that she might be afraid. Here in the darkness, she would be willing to admit that. She was chilled to the core, because she was frightened about what could happen to them.

Hawke had lived with this feeling before, in Kirkwall, where every street corner held a member of the trade guilds, a templar, or another governmental official who wanted her attention. Or her death. And then there were the shadows, where the assassins had stalked her day and night. Kirkwall may have felt like her home, but it was an abusive relationship, forcing her to walk through the one place where she should have felt safe while looking over her shoulder the entire time. In many ways, she was happy that she had been forced to leave.

And in many ways, she wasn’t. She had made a home in Kirkwall, working her way and building a positive reputation for herself and for Bethany. After her trip into the Deep Roads with Varric and his brother, Bartrand, she had managed to purchase her mother’s family estate, and she had tried to make it a home. Could she help it if the rest of the world had been determined to rip her happiness away from her at every turn? Could she help it if each action that she took seemed to breed an entirely new group of people who wanted her or her family dead?

She would be lying if she said that she had missed it. She would be lying if she said that she wanted to expose her family to that again.

Especially now that they had Leandra, Rhoane and Abelas’s little girl.

She hadn’t been able to protect her mother from the necromancer who had imagined that he had seen his dead wife’s face in Leandra’s. But she would protect her niece at all costs. She was their future, and Jaya swore that it would be a safe one for the child.

Shifting her legs under the blanket, she accidentally pulled all of the coverings out from their tuck at the foot of the bed, exposing her already chilled toes to the cool night air. She rolled up onto one elbow, trying to toss the fabric so that it would drape across her feet again. Jaya was about to flop back down on the mattress, knowing that it was impossible for her to be comfortable now, when an arm snaked around her waist and pulled her against a strong, lean chest.

“If you move one more time, Hawke,” Fenris growled into the back of her neck, “I am going to club you over the head and knock you unconscious.”

She giggled, wriggling closer against the hard length of his body, feeling him press her hips back against his own. “Is that the best you can think of?”

His lips wandered onto the side of her throat and up her shoulder. “Are you challenging me? Have you forgotten that I can still rip a man’s beating heart from his chest?” His hand slipped up from her hip and cupped the curve of her breast, his fingertips circling the nipple until it tightened. She sighed, letting her eyes slide closed, enjoying the shivering excitement that Fenris could send racing through her.

“I haven’t forgotten anything, Fenris,” she said, pressing her shoulders back against him. “But surely you can think of a more effective way to keep me from tossing and turning.” His lips and fingers stilled, and she looked over her shoulder to see him staring off into the distance. “What are you doing?”

“Considering my options,” he replied seriously, but she could see the mischievous smile that tugged at his lips. “I suppose ripping your heart from your chest is out of the question …”

Hawke playfully jabbed an elbow back into his ribs. “It is if you want to continue to enjoy the more padded portions of my upper torso.”

She felt him back away, and the next thing that she knew he was pressing her down onto the mattress and folding the blankets toward her waist. Watching him from between her eyelashes, she noticed that he seemed to be studying her breasts. Her nipples tightened as the cool air of their bedroom brushed across them.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “I suppose that I would miss these. So that’s not a viable option. And you seem to object to my plan to knock you unconscious.”

Jaya brought one hand up to run her fingers along the line of his jaw. “I rarely think of unconscious and asleep as the same thing.”

She saw him look around and felt one of his hands close around her wrist. “I suppose I could tie you up. That would certainly keep you in one place.”

Her hand stilled against his cheek, and she felt a shiver of longing race through her, settling like a fire between her thighs. She turned her head to look at the shadow where the elf’s face should be, trying desperately to read the expression on his face. Of course, knowing him, he would have his usual, stoic glower decorating his mouth and eyes. “What are you suggesting, Fenris?” she said in a small voice.

One of his hands slid down and across her abdomen, making her jump at the unexpected contact and then shiver more as his fingers traced across her ribs. She saw his head bend and felt the brush of his lips against her collarbone, sending tingling sensations all the way down to her toes. Sighing, she laced her fingers into his white hair, just able to see the contrast between her skin and his tresses in the soft moonlight glowing into the room. His lips settled into the hollow of her throat, his tongue darting out to caress her flesh. She tried to turn toward him, to wrap both of her arms around his strong shoulders, but she hadn’t realized that he had trapped her other wrist and was holding it pressed tightly into the uneven cushioning of the bed.

“Fenris?” she sighed the question, watching as her breath riffled his hair. “Do you plan to keep me pinned down, or do I get to play, too?”

He growled, and the vibrations passed from his mouth and into her chest, increasing the throbbing heat at the joining of her thighs. She lifted the shoulder of the arm that he was holding tightly, working to turn toward him, to wrap him in her arms and clutch him tightly to her breast. A sense of relief flooded through her, knowing that he would be at her side whenever she needed him, that he would take on her fears and chase them away with his strength and his determination. She swallowed hard at the realization and felt a tear escape down the side of her face toward the pillow.

“Hawke?” he questioned her in a gentle whisper, bringing a fingertip up to trace the damp pathway across her cheek. “What have I done? I didn’t mean to distress you by holding your arm down …”

“No, no,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his shoulders now that she found both of her hands free. “I was just remembering why I love you so much, Fenris.”

“I see. But not enough to let me get a few hours of sleep.”

She moved quickly, using her well-trained muscles to reverse positions with her lover, slipping on top of him. Lowering her mouth to the side of his throat, she nipped at his lyrium-branded flesh. “Only a few hours?” she asked. “Then that gives me plenty of time to play with you.”

Jaya could see his smile in a thin stripe of moonlight that had moved onto their bed. “Oh, Hawke,” he laughed. “I really should have tied you up when I had the chance.”

Laughing, she slipped lower on his torso, pressing her warmth against his very male hardness. “It doesn’t mean that you still can’t. Or that I can’t do it to you.”

Fenris reached up and pulled her close to him, pressing his mouth to hers, his tongue searching against her own in needy, eager strokes. His hands slid down her back, coming to rest on her hips and allowing his fingertips to urgently press into the flesh of her buttocks. She moaned as his touch became more demanding and rubbed against him, her mouth locked to his until she finally broke away to gasp her mounting desire into the moonlight bathing them in its silvery glow. Leaning over, she ran her teeth along the long edge of his elven ear, slipping down its length until she reached his throat. Jaya slid her lips open and let her tongue trace across the tense muscles on the side of her lover’s neck, settling onto the tendon and sucking it with a deep, satisfying pull. At least, it was satisfying to her.

When the elf moaned urgently, she knew that it was satisfying to Fenris, too.

Slipping down his body, she ran her mouth across his collarbones and traced her fingers along the angles of his chest. She could feel his hard maleness shift against the curve of her buttocks and wriggled against him, smiling to herself at his gasp of pleasure.

And then she stopped. Lifting her head, she tried to make out the familiar golden-green of his gaze in the moonlight, but he was closed against her. She sat still on him, waiting patiently until he raised his head and opened his eyes, his dark eyebrows coming together.

“Hawke?”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I forgot that you wanted me to be still. I’ll stop mov- …”

“Festis bei umo canavarum, Hawke!” he cursed, and she could feel him gather himself under her.

She squealed as he reversed their positions and sheathed himself inside of her with one strong thrust. Moving his hands to her hips, he pulled her more tightly to him, finding a rhythm that pleased the both of them, driving her higher and then, with a burst of pleasure that tingled throughout her body, over the edge. Jaya lost herself to her own ecstasy and had only the slightest idea that he had reached his pinnacle moments before her, continuing his steady motion only so that he could please her. With a long sigh, he slipped from between her legs and then pulled her against his side, tucking them both beneath the many blankets again.

“Now, you can be still,” he muttered, pressing his lips against the top of her head. She snuggled against him, pressing her cheek against his chest.

Yes, she told herself, letting her eyes drift closed, feeling the languor that always filled her after they had made love. Now she could be still.


	3. Part One • Chapter Three • Bethany Hawke

Bethany studied the center of their little village for a few moments, wondering whether she would ever see the structures and the people again. Of course, if she were completely honest with herself, she didn’t belong here. Since she had been forced to join the Grey Wardens or die from the darkspawn taint that had infected her blood, she had no place that she could call her home. She had postings and duty, but nothing that she could call her own.

Well, she thought, that wasn’t completely true now. Now she had Stroud.

Looking over at her senior in the Grey Wardens, she watched the strong muscles of his arms appreciatively as he tightened the girth on the horse that he meant for her to ride. In her experience, riding mounts were rare — she couldn’t remember seeing one in Kirkwall, and they had gotten more difficult to find in the early moments of the Blight in Ferelden. She assumed that most of them had been conscripted into King Cailan Theirin’s army for the attack that he had mounted at Ostagar. Bethany didn’t want to think about what might have happened to the horses after their forces had been overrun when Logain Mac Tir had betrayed his king and called the retreat for his own troops. She had seen enough of the destruction that the darkspawn could create with their swords and their claws and their sharp, sharp teeth. It was very unlikely that a horse could survive against their pack-like attacks.

She was grateful for the two that had survived and had brought mages to them here so that she and Stroud could use them. They had to get to a Grey Warden garrison and then to Cumberland in order to allow her to observe the First Enchanter’s vote. The only way that it would be possible was if they pushed these two mounts to the edge of their abilities — and maybe beyond. Her heart ached for the demands that they would make on their mounts, but she also knew what must be done.

Stroud patted the side of the horse’s neck and turned to look at her. When he smiled gently, she nodded and turned to look at the building where she had shared her life with her sisters for such a short time. 

Perhaps she should have felt more regretful: many people in her position would. After all, she was leaving one of the few places that she had ever felt truly at home. Since her family had been forced to flee from the darkspawn, she’d felt unmoored — like a ship floating without an anchor or a tie rope to keep her safely in one place. Honestly, she was happy that she had never felt at home in that slovenly hovel where she had lived with her sister, mother, and Uncle Gamlen; she would have doubted her sanity if that disgusting rat trap had ever made her feel comfortable. Even in her fairly short time with the Grey Wardens, she had only managed to feel close to a few people, and no posting had ever lasted long enough for her to change what was simply a place into a home.

And maybe that was the real truth: her home was with her sister. As much as she had always seemed to resent the ways that Hawke had handled her, she was grateful for Jaya’s level-headed determination to keep her safe. Even when she had sent Bethany to the Grey Wardens, it had been the only option to keep her alive. Jaya’s one — only — sister had been everything in the world to her, and in turn, her sister represented everything that had meant safety and security and peace of mind.

Until she had discovered that she was one of three surviving children of Malcolm and Leandra Hawke. That she actually had two sisters. And now a niece.

That was something to miss, something that gave her a stronger sense of home.

As if her sister had known exactly the drift of the thoughts in her mind, Bethany saw Jaya slip out of the shadows at the edge of one of the smaller buildings and begin walking toward her. There was still something in her sister’s step that reminded her of a cat on the prowl — something dark and sinister — despite the fact that they hadn’t had to fight for their lives in months. Somehow, she doubted that Jaya could ever lose all the shadows that dimmed the brightness of her soul, but Bethany hoped that her sister would continue to find ways to lighten the burden of guilt that she carried.

“I guess I’m sending you away again,” Jaya tried to joke as she came up to face Bethany.

“Ha!” she replied, tugging at the hem of her blue-and-white striped Grey Warden tunic. “I’m running away this time! Can’t you see how eager I am to get away from all of you?”

A crooked smile spread over Hawke’s face for a moment, only to be quickly replaced by a frown. “You don’t have to do this, Bethany. No one expects it of you.”

She shook her head, looking over again at Stroud. He nodded briefly at her and then turned to walk toward the barn across the center of their village. “The Grey Wardens expect it of me, Sister,” she replied solemnly. “No matter what else you did when you gave me up to them, you saved my life.” She heard a little choking sound and quickly looked up to see tears shimmering in her sister’s eyes. Looking away, she finished her thought, “But more than that, you gave me a purpose for my life. What exactly do you think I would have been doing with you and Mother in that big house in Kirkwall all day? Attending teas and trying to find a suitable husband for someone from the Amell family? Planning dinner menus and deciding which ribbon to put in my hair to exactly match the buckles on my shoes?”

Hawke chuckled. “I never did any of that when I lived in Kirkwall.”

“Mother knew better,” she answered. “But do you honestly think that she wasn’t going to try to turn at least one of us into a lady?”

Her sister laughed quietly again. “Maker’s breath! You’re making me almost feel happy that all I had to deal with was an army of potential Qunari invaders and a deranged templar commander. I mean, is there really more than one thing you can use to tie up your hair? And I thought that I was doing well to even find that strip of leather that I use some mornings.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Bethany teased. “If Mother had managed to get her hooks into you, you would have had a lovely, little elven dresser to choose your clothes every morning and put your hair up in bows and braids.”

“Braids?” a new voice added to their conversation. “Is Jaya thinking of braiding her hair?”

Turning, she saw her other sister, Rhoane, standing behind them with her daughter in her arms. The infant had the fingers of one hand twisted in her mother’s long, dark hair, but when her eyes met Bethany’s, she smiled and reached both arms toward her aunt. The young Grey Warden giggled and lifted Leandra away from her parent, allowing just a moment for Rhoane to untangle the raven-wing dark strands from her daughter’s stick fingers before she lifted the baby high above her head. Spinning in a circle, she listened to the little girl’s happy laughter echo around the courtyard and laughed in response.

Even as she turned, she noticed the moment that Stroud came back into the courtyard, followed closely by the two elves, Fenris and Abelas. They each carried something that she and the Warden-Lieutenant would need for their journey — two packs full of foodstuffs, bedrolls, a secured tent in case the weather turned. Sighing, she slowly halted her spin and tucked Leandra onto one hip. She turned to face her sisters.

“I guess it’s time,” she said quietly and started toward the horse that Stroud had saddled for her.

Of course, she had to hold the baby up so that Leandra could tangle her fingers in the bay mare’s black mane. Bethany cooed to the horse and slid one hand along her flank while her niece’s tiny hand patted rhythmically against its neck. Turning, the mare looked back at Leandra and her aunt, staring in what Bethany could only guess was disgust at the tiny human who couldn’t even walk yet. Finally, the horse turned away and sent a shivering through its flesh, as if to chase away Leandra’s hand like so many flies. The baby just smiled at Bethany and kept pat-patting the mare’s neck.

“Well, that’s one good thing in all this,” Rhoane said, coming to stand near her, but not exactly beside the horse.

“What’s that?” she asked, grabbing Leandra’s hand before she could pull on the strands of mane wrapped around her fingers.

Rhoane answered, “Leandra’s not afraid of horses. I can’t remember even seeing one until recently, and I haven’t proven to be a very good student when it comes to riding.”

“Seriously?” Bethany replied, turning to face her sister and pulling her niece away from the mare. Leandra, upset to be taken away from her new friend, leaned as far back as she could and twisted her little body so that she could continue to pet the horse’s neck. “How did you manage to get anywhere during the Blight?”

Rhoane chuckled. “We walked. Forced march, I supposed most people would call it. Miles and miles of forced marches.”

Bethany shuddered. “The worst thing about being a Grey Warden now is that we don’t have griffons. Can you imagine what it would have been like to ride one?”

When her sister only smiled, Bethany turned and stepped closer to the horse so that it didn’t feel like the baby was going to slip from her arms at any moment. Stroud crossed to her mount and began to attach the packs and other necessities that they would carry to the appropriate places on her saddle. When he had laced the last tie tightly, he turned to face her.

“If we’re to make any progress today, we need to leave now, Bethany. Make your good-byes.”

She started to bristle at the command in his voice and then stopped herself. He was right. It was time for them to leave this dream-life that they had created for themselves and go back into the real world. The world where he was her commander — not her lover — and she was his subordinate.

The fact that he smiled gently at her, to lessen the sharp edge of his order, helped, too. Grinning back, she turned toward Rhoane, but stopped when someone behind her spoke.

“Let me take her,” Abelas said, ducking under the mare’s neck and extending his arms toward his daughter. The baby leaned away from him, tucking her hands up against her body until he made a funny face and asked if she would like to pet the horse some more. That was all it took to make her reach for her father, who cuddled her against his chest and took her to carefully touch the velvety softness of the horse’s muzzle. Bethany sighed at the loss of Leandra’s weight on her hip and turned to face Rhoane. Jaya walked up and joined them a moment later, leaving Fenris standing with Stroud on the opposite side of the horse.

“We’ll meet you on the road to Cumberland, as we discussed,” her eldest sister said, tugging a stray length of her black hair away from her face and tossing it over her shoulder. “I’ll be looking for the ward markings that I taught you, in case you need to move forward before we’ve found you.”

“As I will look for yours,” Bethany replied. “We’ll do the best we can, but we’ll have to wait and see how the Grey Warden Commander reacts to my proposal.”

Rhoane sighed. “I know. And you know that I would come with you if I weren’t afraid that …” Her voice trailed off.

“That they would pressure you back into service. I know, Rhoane,” she said. Looking over at her niece who was helping her father hold a piece of carrot in front of the horse’s nose, she continued, “And you have other reasons to not want to be dragged back into the Grey Wardens. All of them very, very valid.”

When Rhoane stepped toward her, she welcomed her sister’s embrace, hugging her tightly for a long moment. “I’m so glad that I got the chance to know you, Bethany. Sister.”

Unable to answer, she simply nodded her head and squeezed her eldest sister against her. Finally, Rhoane stepped away and walked over to stand with her husband and daughter. After a long moment, Bethany turned toward Hawke, who had been watching her with her hands on her hips.

“Take care,” Jaya said sternly, “and try not to do anything too overtly mage-y. You know as well as I do that it’s not a safe time for anyone with magic right now.”

Bethany stuck her tongue out at her sister. “‘Overtly mage-y?’ Really?”  
“You know what I mean,” Hawke replied, frowning deeply. “There’s mage-y-ness, and then there’s the kind of mage-y-ness that gets peoples’ heads chopped off. I’d prefer that you avoid the second situation at all costs.”

“Yes, Mother,” she answered and moved close to hug Jaya tightly. “The same applies to you,” she whispered, “except that it’s always a dangerous time to be overtly rogue-y.”

“Anyone,” her sister said, squeezing her once before breaking the embrace, “who was overtly rogue-y would be very bad at his job. And I am very good at mine.”

Later, when they were tramping through another section of forest or over a new, undulating slope, she wished that she could have said that time slowed down in that moment, but it didn’t. Instead, it seemed to speed up, and before she knew it, Stroud had tossed her up into her saddle and handed up her staff. Then she had been looking down at her family. Her real family: Rhoane with her head resting against the side of Abelas’s face, Leandra twisting long trails of her mother’s hair in her fingers; and Hawke with Fenris just behind her shoulder. She even remembered that little motion her sister had made, reaching back to entwine her fingers with the lyrium-branded elf’s. Bethany had seen the hint of fear in her sister’s eyes then and had known that she was trying to find something to reassure her, to moor her in the hope that they could all be together again — safely and securely.

She was still reflecting on that moment that Hawke had reached out for Fenris when Stroud called a halt for the night in a small clearing in the forest. Mechanically, she dismounted and reached up to unstrap one of the bags of provisions from the saddle. With the horse’s reins and her staff in one hand and the satchel in the other, she crossed to where the other Grey Warden was clearing the fallen leaves from a small depression next to a fallen log.

“Give me your horse,” he said, extending his hand for the reins. “There’s a stream just down this slope where I can water them. If you can get a fire going while I’m gone …”

Bethany giggled a little and looked up to see the confused look in his face. “I’m sorry, Stroud, but you just asked a mage to start a fire. For most people, it’s the one thing that they devoutly hope we won’t do.”

He grinned ruefully at her. “I guess I’m out of practice thinking of you as a mage, ma moitié.”

“And a Grey Warden?” she asked, rising up on her tiptoes to press her lips to the side of his face when she tried to pass her horse’s reins to him. She was gratified to hear him chuckle and feel his arm snake around her waist to pull her tightly against him.

“But not as a woman, Bethany,” he breathed against her lips before he kissed her. She wished that she could respond more passionately to his embrace, but she wasn’t planning to chase her horse through the Maker-forsaken woods simply because she had dropped its lead. Instead, she pressed into him, letting him crush her breasts against his side while their tongues danced together for a long, long moment. Finally, he dropped his arm from around her, waiting until he knew that she was steady on her feet before he took her horse’s reins from her and led both of their mounts down the slope to the water.

By the time that he returned, she had managed to find enough wood to get a small fire started in the depression and was searching through their packs for something that they could have for dinner. Stroud took the horses to an area nearby where they could graze and picketed them out, stripping them of their saddles, bridles, and other baggage and leaving them with only their halters and long leads to keep them from running away. Laying out a few of the things from their pack, she started warming up something for them to share for dinner.

“I’m so glad we were able to trade for those pigs,” she said casually to Stroud when he returned with a container full of water from the stream. “And who knew that Abelas …”

That was when she felt it: a tiny tickle of magic brushing against her mind, like a kiss her mother used to press against her forehead to see whether or not she had a fever. Cautiously, she reached out to wrap her fingers around her staff, trying to keep her movements controlled while she worked to determine which direction the little probe of power had come from, droning on to Stroud about her brother-in-law’s ability with just about anything they had needed done in the village. When her hand finally clenched tightly around the staff, she leaped to her feet, whirling in the direction that she thought the spell had come from and casting a sheet of freezing ice in that direction, letting the power of her staff set the stone at the end aglow to light the clearing. She felt rather than saw Stroud jump to his feet in response to her actions.

And then she frowned.

Her spell had been shattered the moment it had contacted their intruder. She had felt the echo of her own mana cast back at her through the trees.

“We know you’re there,” she called loudly, hoping that the other mage hadn’t simply turned and run when he or she had felt Bethany’s ice spell spread. “We don’t mean you any harm.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” a young woman’s voice replied, heavily accented, like some of the elves she had met who hadn’t spent their entire lives in the alienages of large cities. “I hadn’t meant to … I mean, I really just wanted … Oh, bother. There I go again.”

Bethany stared in the direction that the voice came from until a small, almost waifish young elf stepped out from the shadow of a tall tree and lit the stone in the end of her own staff. The young Grey Warden stared at the newcomer for a long moment, her mind furiously searching through her memories to place the face, which she was certain that she had seen before.

In Kirkwall. In a hovel a lot like Uncle Gamlen’s.

“Merrill?” she asked uncertainly, tipping her staff forward so that the blue-white light from the gemstone illuminated the elf’s face fully. “You’re Merrill, right?”

She saw a frown pass over the other mage’s face and then she watched those big, golden-green eyes blink before Merrill tilted her head to one side in a motion that Bethany could only call bird-like. The elf studied her, glancing over at Stroud with little, darting looks that, too, reminded the Grey Warden of a little flying creature, trying to be certain that it was safe. The other woman’s short, black hair was tied into a number of intricate braids all over her head, and her dark green tunic and pants would have provided excellent camouflage when traveling through the forest. The elf’s staff looked more like a gnarled tree branch than the one that Bethany carried, and the green stone woven into the intertwining twigs at the top glowed greenly, reminding her of the light shining through newly opened leaves.

“I know you,” Merril said slowly. “I …”

“Bethany,” she replied. “Hawke’s sister.”

“By the Dread Wolf,” the elf cursed — or celebrated. She couldn’t be sure which it was until a brilliant smile crossed the other mage’s face. “Is she near by? Can you take me to her? I’ve been searching for so long …”

Merrill started to rush toward her, but the sound of Stroud drawing his sword stopped the elf mid-stride. Instead of continuing toward Bethany, the elven mage lowered her staff and pointed it directly at the Grey Warden lieutenant’s chest. Before she could cast a spell, Bethany stepped between them, raising her arms to draw Merrill’s attention.

“No, you can’t,” she shouted. “He’s with me. He’s another Grey Warden. You’ve met him before, too.”

Reluctantly, Merrill lowered her staff and looked around Bethany’s shoulder at Stroud. Her head tilted and then she said, “Oh, yes. We kept running into you at the most opportune moments. Stroud, wasn’t it?”

Bethany sighed. It was just like one of Jaya’s friends to remember the person that they had casually run into in the middle of a town on fire — which Kirkwall had been both of the times she knew that Hawke had met Stroud — rather than a woman that they had traveled with them through the Deep Roads for weeks and weeks. Her sister always had attracted the most interesting people.

Like a lyrium-branded elf.

Or a mage who had decided to blow up the Chantry.

Lowering her arms, Bethany turned enough so that she could catch Stroud’s eye and motioned for him to put his sword away. He frowned at her, but obeyed, sliding the metal into its sheath until just before the moment that the hilt clicked to indicate that the sword was fully in place. Sighing again, she turned to face the elf, knowing that if there was any trouble, the Warden-Lieutenant would have his sword out in a moment. 

Not that anything was going to happen. She hoped.

“Will you join us for some food?” she asked politely as she returned to her place beside the fire. She saw Stroud reluctantly ease back down onto the ground, his back against the fallen log, his eyes still glued to the elven mage.

“Oh, that would … I mean, only if there’s enough. I wouldn’t want to diminish your share, bringing my belly to dinner unexpectedly.” The elf took a step closer to the fire, studying both her and the Warden-Lieutenant. “Have you been traveling long? Am I close at all? You know — to Hawke?”

“Closer than you might imagine,” Bethany replied, passing a plate with some softened dried pork, beans, and a fork to Merrill. She made a similar offering to Stroud, grateful that he accepted it without question. For herself, she ate out of the little pot that she had used to cook their meal. “We only left Hawke in the late morning today, so you should be able to reach them by dusk tomorrow, walking.”

“Really?” Merrill replied excitedly. “I’ve been looking for so long, following whatever rumors I could as to where she was. I even heard one that she was in the Tevinter Imperium.”

“She was,” Bethany replied evenly. “So was I.”

When Merrill’s mouth hung open for a long moment, she felt a little thrill of satisfaction at having surprised the elf. There were so few people that she could tell these stories to — anyone who came into their village wanted to hear about the exploits of the Hero of Ferelden or the Champion of Kirkwall. No one wanted to hear how a Grey Warden mage had taken on the representative of the Black Divine in single combat — and won.

Not that that was the most memorable thing about that day, she realized, looking over at Stroud. Since he chose that moment to glance up at her and smile gently, she felt a flush rising in her cheeks at the memory of that day when had carried her through the streets of Minrathous and made love to her for the first time when she wouldn’t let him leave her.

But it was much too long a story to share with someone who was actually interested in finding her sister.

“What was it like? Minrathous?” Merrill asked in an awe-filled voice. “Were the mages … amazing?”

Bethany frowned across the fire at the eager look on the elf’s face. “It was terrible in a different way, Merrill. Trust me when I say this to you: it’s no better for the mages to rule themselves that it is for the rest of Thedas to expect the templars to keep those with magic under control. Every day is spent looking over your shoulder, wondering which of the people around you — even those who you’ve spent your whole life thinking are your friends — are going to come after you, because you stand in their way of rising among the hierarchy.”

The elf tipped her head to the side in that bird-like motion and seemed to consider her words. “I understand. It’s like some of the stories that I’ve heard of elven clans that have too many of their members manifest magic. There’s only so much time and energy that a Keeper can devote to someone with magic, after all, and when there are too many children in one clan …”

“They give the child a bag of food and send them off into the woods to do the best they can,” Stroud said in an even voice.

Merrill dropped her head and stared at the ground between her feet, and even in the gathering darkness, Bethany could see the flush of shame that washed across the elf’s cheeks. “We all have our failings, it seems,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“We are trying,” Bethany said, scraping her spoon across the bottom of the pan. “Hawke and …” She stopped herself quickly, wondering if it wouldn’t be better for the elf to find out about her other sister from Jaya. Slipping the spoon into her mouth to cover the pause that she had left hanging in the air between them, she sucked it clean and dropped it back into the pot, letting it clatter for a moment before she set it on the ground beside the fire. “Hawke and Fenris are trying to work with the displaced mages to create a safe place where they can learn and live.”

“Fenris? Truly?”

Bethany smiled. “He has a little more experience with mages now.”

The surprised look didn’t leave Merrill’s face, but she nodded. They talked until the darkness completely surrounded them, Bethany describing in detail how the elf could approach their village in the safest and easiest manner possible. When she was certain that Merrill understood her instructions, she spread her blankets next to Stroud’s, settling close against his chest and tugging one of his arms across her body. He shifted closer to her, his lips pressing against her hair and whispering sweetly to her while she drifted off to sleep.


	4. Part One • Chapter Four • Rhoane Amell

The mists shifted around her, pressing toward and away from her like little wavelets on a sandy beach. Rhoane looked around at the rough terrain of the Fade until she finally saw the spires of the Black City rising in the distance. By habit, she reached over her shoulder, feeling a staff materialize between her fingers even as she thought about it being there. Channeling mana into the stone at its top, she turned in a circle again, extending the staff away from her in order to light the ground around her.

It had been some time since she had consciously wandered in the Fade, since she had been aware that she was dreaming. She assumed that being pregnant and nursing an infant had helped her sleep more soundly than she had since her magic had manifest itself. All she could hope was that she was able to still manipulate the energies around her as easily as she had in the past. Since she had managed to create a staff and light it, she assumed that it was true, but a wise mage never assumed anything.

Nothing appeared in the light that glowed at the end of her staff except the sharp-edged rocks and what looked like dusty paths that could lead almost anywhere. Rhoane had been used to traveling in the Fade, and she knew that all she needed to do was concentrate. But she wasn’t certain why she was consciously here — what had drawn her to this place in the dream realm when there was nothing specifically that she was concerned about in her real world.

Except the growing conflict between the mages and templars.

If there was something here in the Fade that could help her negotiate with these two groups, it was worth her being here.

She looked around, studying the pathways that led off into the mist. The only hint that she could see of which direction to travel was the density of the swirling vapor, which seemed thicker on the side to her right. Having never been one to take the easy way, she started along that path, the light from the stone at the top of her conjured staff working to dispel the darkness that crowded toward her. Following the smoother area between the outcroppings of stone, she eventually came to a downslope that led her into what looked like a large meadow. It seemed wide and open, with gently undulating little rises and falls of the grassy terrain. In the distance, she could see a widely spreading shade tree with a rope tied to one of the branches to make a swing for some lucky child. In the shadows that were created by the leafy canopy, Rhoane could see a woman sitting with her back toward her.

She frowned, knowing that the demons of the Fade could take any shape — especially those that would be pleasing to the mages who walked there. Tightening her fingers around the staff in her hand as she continued across the grassy meadow, she adjusted her path so that she was walking in a wide arc to approach the woman from the front. At some point in her circuitous path, she saw that there was a child sitting in the woman’s lap. She studied the two faces, recognizing almost immediately how similar the two were, even beyond the difference in their ages. The little girl seemed to be six or seven years old, with long brown hair highlighted with red that the woman was braiding with the flowers growing in the grasses around them. Her large, hazel eyes followed Rhoane as she walked tentatively into the shade of the tree, and when the woman pulled the hair away from the little girl’s face, she noticed the slight elongation of the top of the girl’s ear, like a shorter version of an elf’s.

“Hello, Mama,” the little girl said, smiling brightly up at Rhoane.

She frowned at the entity that was claiming to be her little girl, trying to suppress the shiver of fear that ran down her spine. If there was any sure way to trick her into accepting the advances of a demon, threatening or pretending to be her daughter would be one of the strongest. She looked up from those hazel eyes and at the face of the woman, who was still looping flower stems into the little girl’s hair.

“Who’s your friend, dear?” Rhoane asked gently, tightening her grip on the staff.

The entity who claimed to be her daughter laughed and turned in the woman’s lap, laying one of her little hands against a slightly wrinkled cheek. “That’s right, Mama. You wouldn’t recognize her.” Sliding her fingers under the woman’s chin, she pushed until Rhoane’s eyes met a mist-grey gaze that was exactly like Jaya’s. The other woman smiled uncertainly at her, tears pooling in her lashes.

“This is my Grandmama,” the little girl said.

“Hello, Rhoane,” the older woman said to her, a tear slipping across her cheek. Her daughter reached up and gently wiped it away, and the being claiming to be Leandra Amell Hawke hugged the little girl tightly to her chest.

Rhoane fell to her knees, the staff falling to the ground beside her. “No,” she muttered, shaking her head to clear the image of grandmother and granddaughter sitting under the tree. “It’s not true. You’re just an infant, Leandra. You’re not this old yet. You aren’t her, whoever you are.”

Her daughter laughed, putting a pile of the flowers that were on the ground next to her into her lap and pulling the petals off a bright yellow one. “When I dream, Mama, I can be whatever I want to be.”

“But you can’t be with your grandmother, dearest,” she said gently. “Grandmama Leandra is dead. Her spirit has passed out of this world.”

Again that knowing little shake of her daughter’s head. “That’s what the Chantry says, Mama. Grandmama Leandra almost believed that, too, but when I asked her to come and visit me, she did. She loves me very much.” The girl looked over at her, smiling gently. “Just like she loves you.”

“This isn’t possible,” Rhoane whispered. “You aren’t who you claim to be. You can’t be. You’re an infant, Leandra.”

The little girl stuck her tongue out at her and tugged even harder at the petals of the flower in her hand. “I know that, Mama. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair that I can be as grown up as I want to be here in my dreams but still be a baby when I’m awake. Don’t you think that I wanted to tell you about seeing Grandmama here? That I wouldn’t want my aunties to know that their mother is watching over them?” She sighed. “Waiting to grow up takes a really long time, doesn’t it?”

The older Leandra laughed. “It will be over before you know it, my darling,” she said, her hand softly stroking the little girl’s head. “You’ll be all grown up, and you’ll forget these dreams that you had as a child — you’ll forget all about me.”

“Don’t be silly, Grandmama,” she replied. “As long as you visit me, I can’t ever forget you.”

The being who claimed to be Rhoane’s mother sighed and quickly looked up to meet her eyes. Just a quickly, her gaze slid to one side, and the Grey Warden Commander saw another tear slip down the older woman’s cheek.

“You tried with them, didn’t you?” she asked gently. “With Jaya and Bethany?” She didn’t know whether to feel sorry for this spirit that seemed to think that she was their mother or to be angry that it had made attempts to influence her sisters. Something about this felt so right, but she knew that she couldn’t let herself think that. It was what the demons wanted — for her to trust them enough to let them in and take them out into the real world.

“Push me, Grandmama,” little Leandra said, jumping up from the older woman’s lap and clambering onto the swing. She wrapped her arms completely around the rope, her feet firmly planted on the knot that dangled just above the grassy meadow. The supposed grandmother rose, setting the swing in motion with a soft press of her hands. When the little girl started to laugh, so did the older woman, and Rhoane listened to the music that their two voices made, watching the rhythmic back and forth of the rope.

It was the tempo of the swing that drew her attention to the song that was playing somewhere in the background of the Fade. It seemed familiar in some way, as if she had heard it before in a place that wasn’t her dreams, but she couldn’t identify it. Because she had no real idea of what she could do or needed to do to deal with the entities who were pretending to be her family, she rose to her feet, bending down to pick up the staff that she had created and walking in the direction of the music. There was a thick grove of trees in front of her, but she could just see the edges of an animal trail to one side. She walked toward it.

“No! Mama! No!” She heard the little girl’s voice calling to her, but the song was so intriguing, she couldn’t stop herself from moving forward. “You can’t listen, Mama! It’s not for you!”

She was about to step into the low brush when she heard the snap of a twig to one side. Turning her head, she saw the bulky body of a wolf and met the glowing amber of its eyes. The animal’s gaze froze her in place so thoroughly that she couldn’t even lower her staff to prepare a protective spell. When the wolf began to growl, she tried to take a step backward, but her body wouldn’t respond, and she watched in horror as the great beast prowled closer to her. Its lips lifted, showing her the sharp teeth that waited to sink into her flesh.

“No! No!” Little Leandra cried out, pushing in front of Rhoane and shaking a finger at the beast. “You know better. Behave yourself. You can’t treat her like that here. She doesn’t understand.”

The wolf’s growl stopped, and the creature turned, running off into the darkness under the trees. Rhoane felt an overwhelming sense of relief, and her head started to swim. In the distance, she heard the wolf start to howl as she sank to the ground …

And awoke in her own bed to find Abelas cradling a crying Leandra against his chest. She looked around, trying to reorient herself to the familiar room, but the sudden shift from the forest of her dreams to her home left her feeling unsettled. Reflexively, she reached for her daughter, sliding into a more comfortable position and allowing the baby to latch on to one of her nipples and start nursing.

She heard the scratch of a flint and closed her eyes against the brightening of the room caused by the candle that Abelas had lit. After a few moments, she looked over at him, meeting his worried look with an apologetic smirk.

“I’m sorry if we woke you, ma vhenan,” she said to him, using the Dalish term of endearment that he had learned from a clan that had tried to take him away from her. “I can usually get to her before she starts to cry. I guess … I was preoccupied.”

Abelas glanced at her curiously, his fingers gently stroking the downy softness of their daughter’s head. “You were dreaming?” he asked quietly. “In the Fade?”

She nodded and spent a long moment trying to determine whether she should tell her husband about the time she had spent with the Leandras in the realm of dreams. He couldn’t understand what it was like — to be a mage and walk consciously in the Fade. To encounter beings that appeared completely ordinary and helpful and yet could destroy any future that you had. But she had always been completely honest with him. Looking down at his hand on their daughter’s head, she smiled softly and reached out to entwine her fingers with his.

“I haven’t walked in the Fade for a very long time,” she started. “So you can imagine my surprise to find myself there tonight. I was even more surprised when I met my mother there …” She paused for a moment and then inhaled deeply. “And our daughter.”

“Really? I hadn’t even thought about her dream time.”

Rhoane frowned at him. “You know as well as I do, Abelas, that the demons of the Fade can take any form they want. As much as the two entities that I saw said that they were our Leandras, it’s not possible. My mother is dead, and our daughter is …”

She paused as an astonishing thought hit her. Leandra — or at least the entity that claimed to be her — had been walking in the Fade. While she had dismissed the idea completely when she was in her dream — their dream, she corrected herself, the one that she and her daughter had shared — there was one way that it was possible for her to met her daughter in the Fade.

If Leandra was a mage.

And if she were a mage, then she would have the power to shape the dream realm in any way that she liked.

“Abelas,” she said tentatively, looking over to meet her husband’s green eyes, “I believe that our daughter might be a mage.”

He laughed softly, his fingers pressing against hers. “I would be more surprised if she wasn’t, ma vhenan. But what makes you think these things about our Leandra?”

“When I met her in the Fade, she was six or seven years old.”

“Hmm, impatient then?”

“Very. And she had attracted a spirit to her who was representing itself as my mother.”

Abelas frowned. “Is that a danger for her? To have a spirit attached to her at such a young age?”

Shrugging gently, Rhoane replied, “I don’t know. The spirit didn’t seem malevolent or dangerous, and she didn’t make any demands on Leandra. I honestly feel like she simply wanted to spend time with someone she was thinking of as her granddaughter.”

“Or that your daughter actually managed to draw the spirit of her grandmother across the Void to be with her.”

She nodded. “That’s the other option. And it’s a remarkable idea.”

Shifting the baby to her other breast, she looked down and met the wide, honest gaze of her daughter. Leandra smiled up at her and then turned back to her dinner, and Rhoane settled more comfortably among the pillows. Abelas’s hand trailed along her thigh while he shifted closer to her, his lips lingering against her shoulder.

“I suppose I must learn to appreciate these moments of peace while I still can, then,” he murmured, his arm sliding around her waist and pressing another kiss into her shoulder. “I give you permission to wake me the moment she sets anything ablaze.”

She giggled and pushed her arm against his body. “I have permission to wake you whenever it’s necessary, husband. For example, in a few moments when your daughter needs her diaper changed.”

“Fiery hells, to be sure,” he said. “Wake me, then, ma vhenan, and I will rescue you.”

She smiled and let him drift into a light doze, secure in his love and wondering at the power that might exist in the tiny body that rested against her.


	5. Part One • Chapter Five • Jaya Hawke

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Hawke asked her sister, studying the look on Rhoane’s face in sidelong glances while they walked together between the smaller buildings that made up their village. “You really think this is going to help?”

“I can’t know that,” the Grey Warden Commander replied, “until I talk to him, now can I? It’s just the best idea that I have right now, and we have to admit that we’re running out of time before we need to leave. So — at the very least — I have to find out his opinion on the matter.”

“I still don’t understand why you need to be there. Maker’s breath, Rhoane, you’re not a First Enchanter. You’re not even officially a member of any of the Circles now. You’re a Grey Warden …”

Rhoane hitched Leandra up higher on her hip and interrupted her sister. “But I was a mage first, Jaya. It’s even more of who I am than any of those other things.” The Warden Commander surprised her by stopping suddenly and standing completely still. She looked over her shoulder to see her sister gazing off into the distance while the baby gurgled happily and leaned out toward her, her arms extended.

Hawke frowned at her sister, trying to ignore the tiny fingers that reached out and tried to grab the sleeve of the shirt she wore under her leathers. She loved her niece — there was something amazing in watching the little life blooming in front of them every day — but she was used to the hard-scrabble of their living, not nurturing something delicate while it grew. Those few times when she had had Leandra thrust into her arms, she had spent every second waiting for someone to come and take the infant away, back to safety. She struggled to understand how women welcomed the idea of raising children or rearranging an entire life so that there could be a baby in the center of it. It made her feel disloyal to her sister, who seemed to embrace the challenge of motherhood with grace, and a little anxious about her relationship with Fenris. They’d never actually talked about children of their own, but they hadn’t had much time to think about their future until more recently. And with the mages and templars igniting a war across Thedas, what kind of future could either of them actually think about?

“I need to tell you something, Jaya,” Rhoane was saying in a slow, soft voice. “I hope it will help you understand why I need to do this.”

Crossing her arms, she waited for the Warden Commander to continue.

“I met Leandra in the Fade when I was dreaming last night,” Rhoane said, and Jaya saw her hands tighten slightly on the baby sitting on her hip.

“Which one? Your daughter or our mother?”

“Both of them. Mother must have looked much like she did shortly before she died, but my daughter seemed to be older. Around seven or so, I think. When she talked to me …”

“Wait!” Hawke exploded, almost stuttering in her anger. “You talked to someone that you met in the Fade? I … Wha- … Maker’s breath, Rhoane! Demons?” The frown tightened across her forehead when her sister simply chuckled.

“That had been my reaction, too. But you know that it’s possible to share dreams. You’ve been sent into the Fade to help others, just as I have.”

Hawke nodded slowly, remembering the time when the Keeper for the Sabrae Clan had sent her into the Fade to rescue the dreamer, Feynriel. But the dreaming realm had never been a place where she was comfortable: she rarely remembered her dreams, and the ones that she did recall were filled with the horrors and failures that she had experienced, grim reminders of the things that she had lost along the way. Sighing, she said, “Yes, I know it’s possbile, but no interaction in the Fade is ever really what it seems to be.”

“Yes, yes, Jaya, but you’re missing the point. The thing is, Leandra was there, in the Fade, and either I was in her dream or she was in mine. And the easiest way for that to have happened is if she’s a mage, too.” She saw Rhoane look down at the baby nestled against her, a strange look of mingled pride and curiosity on her face.

Another generation of mages! Hawke thought, rubbing one hand across her forehead. And that would be why Rhoane felt such a driving need to be at the mages’ vote: she wanted to know what the future would look like for her daughter, not just herself, the Grey Wardens, the members of the Circle towers, or Bethany.

“All right,” she said, shrugging. “Let’s go see what he has to say.”

Jaya crossed to one of the rough cabins and rapped sharply on the door. Moments later, the portal swung open, and Anders looked out at them with a little frown between his eyebrows. When he saw who had knocked, he stepped back from the opening and invited them in with a sweeping motion of his arm.

“Good morning, Hawke. Warden Commander. Oh, yes, and you!” He stepped up to Rhoane and extended his hands toward Leandra, who smiled and reached out to be lifted in the mage’s arms and tossed toward the ceiling. The baby laughed and wrapped her fingers in the grey-tinged beard that he had been growing to disguise his identity from casual inquiries. Leaning forward, he waggled his face against Leandra’s belly, making growling noises and sending the little girl into crazy fits of giggles.

“You’re welcome to take her, Anders,” Rhoane said, stepping farther into the room and turning away from her daughter. “I actually need to talk to Clement, if he has some time.”

“Me?” the younger Grey Warden mage said curiously, walking in from the small sleeping area that Hawke knew was located behind the fabric curtain that divided the room. “How could I possibly help you, Commander?”

Hawke watched while the younger man pulled one of the rickety chairs away from the lopsided table and waited until Rhoane had seated herself. When she motioned for him to take the other little chair, he did so reluctantly, perching on the front edge and nervously wiping his hands across the trousers of his Grey Warden uniform. She saw her sister smile gently and turned to lean against the doorway, staring out into the sunlit morning.

“You’ve heard about the First Enchanter’s vote, of course,” she heard her sister saying. “And you know that both Bethany and I are trying to create our own ways to be there to observe.”

“I don’t know how you’re going to do that, Rhoane,” Anders said to her from where he was sitting on the floor holding the baby so that she could press her little feet into the boards and try to take a few steps. “You’ve been described in so many tales since the end of the Blight, even the fact that most of the stories are huge exaggerations, they’re close enough that you won’t escape scrutiny.”

“That’s why I had thought to disguise myself,” her sister said slowly, “as an Orlesian mage.”

Except for the amused babble of Leandra voice, an odd silence settled on the little cabin. Hawke looked over her shoulder and noticed that Clement had become very still, his hands clenched into fists on top of his thighs. Drawing in a deep breath, he seemed to will himself to relax. spreading his fingers so that he could begin that nervous rubbing motion again.

“I suppose it could work. Can you speak Orlesian?”

Rhoane rattled off some phrases in the native tongue of the Orlesian empire and looked over at Clement expectantly.

“Very analytical,” he replied, lifting one hand to rub across his forehead. “And very Ferelden. Your accent will give you away every time.”

Jaya could see her sister sigh. “I had hoped that I was a little better than that,” she said reluctantly. “I’ve been able to read Orlesian since my junior years at the Tower, but I suppose that’s not really the same.”

“Unfortunately,” the young mage responded. “I’m assuming that you wanted to pretend to be Orlesian because of the mask?”

“What have masks got to do with anything?” Hawke asked, turning to face back into the little cabin.

“The people of Orlais spend every moment of their lives playing ‘The Game’,” her sister said, rising to her feet taking a few steps toward the curtain hanging across the back of Anders and Clement’s home. Because the space was so limited, she had no choice but to turn around almost immediately and walk back to her chair.

“Which game?” Hawke asked. “And why is a game so important to adults? Games are for children.”

Clement choked on his laughter and quickly jumped in to explain. “‘The Game’ is the continual struggle of power among all of the houses of Orlais. Everyone is looking — all the time — for an opening, a way to hold something over anyone else and, with that information, put you and your family in a better position than everyone else’s. Each child is trained from infancy to hide his or her emotions, to keep every secret tightly guarded, to maintain a facade that gives nothing away to anyone.”

“Thus the masks,” Rhoane said. “Many Orlesians believe that wearing a mask makes it easier for you to hide what you’re thinking from others.”

“Which might make it the perfect disguise for the Commander among the First Enchanters,” Clement concluded. “As long as there aren’t too many Orlesians there.”

“What do you mean?” Rhoane asked, sitting back down in her chair and leaning toward the Grey Warden.

The mage cleared his throat. “The masks aren’t only for hiding your face from the scrutiny of the people around you. The decoration and gilding are indicators of who you are, who your family is, and what station you’re currently occupying in life. I … I’m not sure what we can do about a mask for you that will be obscure enough in its meaning to keep you safe, but give you enough status to keep prying eyes away.”

“And we need it in two days’ time, Clement,” Hawke said from the doorway. “We have to be on the road to Cumberland by then. We have no other choice.”

Staring off into the distance, he seemed to consider the options available to them for long moments, which made Hawke grow more uneasy by the minute. In many ways, she hoped that — when Clement finally spoke — he would tell her sister that it was impossible. And then they could simply travel to Cumberland and do what they usually did: gather the information that they could and go on from there. There was too much that could happen to Rhoane and Bethany, too much that Jaya couldn’t protect them from if they were locked into a gathering hall with the many First Enchanters that would be able to attend. And the templars who would inevitably be lined up to monitor them. It was bad enough to Hawke that her sisters would be in a room where a simple misunderstanding could turn into a firestorm — literally, a storm of fire sweeping throughout the space — but when you added the templars, who were on edge to detect the slightest demonic corruption … Well, it was a nightmare that she could only hope they could all avoid.

She saw Clement rise from his chair and disappear behind the curtain, and a variety of rustling noises were the only clues she had as to what the young man had left to do. Eventually, he returned with something in his hands, which he held out to Rhoane. Taking it from him, her sister turned it over in her hands and then looked up at him, nodding and returning it to him.

“I’ll have to make some adjustments to it, of course, Commander,” he said, placing what was probably a mask on the table. Hawke could feel her heart drop to her feet when the hope that she had been trying to keep a tight hold on suddenly slipped away. “Give me until the morning that you have to leave, and I will have something workable for you then.”

“Thank you, Clement,” Rhoane said, rising to her feet and walking over to where Anders and her daughter were still playing on the floor. Reaching down, she lifted Leandra and settled her on her hip again while the other mage scrambled to his feet.

“I’ll add my final disapproving warning now, before you leave,” Anders said, brushing his hands across his robes to remove as much dust as he could. “You don’t need to be at this vote, Commander. They’ll make their decision with or without you, and you won’t have any ability or opportunity to sway their choice. Find out about it safely, after it’s completed. You don’t need to risk yourself or your sister or your daughter for this … this vanity of yours.”

“Vanity?” Rhoane asked, raising one her eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

Hawke saw him look down at the toes of his boots for a long moment before he said, “Experience. Let’s not forget that I’m the man who was certain that only I could understand the position that all the mages of Thedas were in. And that the only way to deal with it was to make such a … an explosive statement … that no one could ignore the issue any more.”

Rhoane stepped up to his side and placed one of her hands on his shoulder. “I understand, Anders. But at least let me have this option. I promise to look for better information and other avenues of inquiry when we get to Cumberland.”

It was more than Hawke could have hoped for — that her sister might consider that there would be another option after they had more information closer to the First Enchanters’ vote. Sighing, she stepped through the door, trying to ignore the cooing good-byes that the two men were sharing with her niece. When Rhoane finally joined her, she started toward their house, silent and brooding, her eyes locked onto the dirt that passed under her boots.

“I know you’re not happy about this, Jaya,” her sister said quietly. “But I will consider our options again when we’re in Cumberland. I promised Anders, and I make the same promise to you. I’m not about to madly risk anything at this point. There’s too much to lose now.”

“I appreciate that,” she replied, “even if I don’t believe that it’s completely true.”

She heard her sister chuckle, and Jaya finally looked up to meet those dark brown eyes that reminded her so much of Bethany’s. “Would you like to pretend to be an Orlesian mage with me, just to be sure? It’s just a mask. If we put a staff in your hand …”

“Maker, no! There’s nothing more certain to give us all away than my trying to make everyone believe that I’m a mage.” The thought made her start to laugh. “Even after all these years of living with mages, it would be impossible for me to …”

She was cut short when she rounded a corner of one of the cabins and slammed into someone coming the other direction. She heard a gasp and then a little surprised intake of breath, and then two arms were wrapped around her neck, and she was being hugged tightly. Reluctantly, she let herself fight the urge to push the slender body away, hearing something familiar in the voice that suddenly started talking against her ear.

“I hadn’t thought … It seemed impossible. Oh, I’m so happy to have found you, Hawke.”

Finally the arms release their stranglehold on her neck, and she was able to step back and look into the large, green-gold eyes of the person who had grabbed her. Smiling gently, she greeted her friend.

“Hello, Merrill.”


	6. Part One • Chapter Six • Merrill

She trailed along after the Hero of Ferelden, still trying to understand everything that she’d learned in the past day. Her friend, the Champion of Kirkwall, was related to the woman who had helped end the last Blight; that same woman was the Grey Warden Commander at an outpost in Ferelden and had had a baby, when every rumor said that Wardens couldn’t conceive; and Anders had been separated from the spirit of Justice who had shared his body. All this information had come at her so quickly, like a rising tide at the docks in Kirkwall that no one had expected, and she still felt as if she were floundering to keep her head above the water.

And now she was following the Grey Warden Commander — Hawke had called her Rhoane — and Anders through the forest in order to find something that they needed to protect. No one had told her specifically what the item was or why they felt that it was so important that it be hidden, but they had asked her to come with them. And it had been easier for her to agree than to wait for someone to give her the details, especially since there seemed to be some kind of deadline pressing on the people that she had only just met.

So now she was back in the forest, listening to the soft rattle of the leaves over her head and trying to mentally mark the direction that she was traveling. After all, whatever was being protected might prove interesting enough for her to want to visit it again, if there was an opportunity for her to do so. If she could remember how to get there.

She tried to press down her curiosity, knowing that her nervous excitement made people suspicious of her intentions. And that was only strangers. Anders knew what she had done — what she had sacrificed — during her time in Kirkwall, which gave him plenty of reasons to doubt her.

For some reason, the Grey Warden Commander had insisted that she come along, and equally as baffling, Anders had quickly acquiesced. So obviously it was reasonable for her to come with these other mages, if she only knew why. Taking a couple of quicker strides, she came up behind Anders and smiled at him when he looked back over his shoulder at her.

“You’re looking much better than the last time that I saw you, Anders,” she said tentatively. “I might almost say … happy.”

“Very happy,” he replied. “I’m not the same person that you knew in Kirkwall, Merrill.”

She frowned at the tone of his voice, feeling that he was accusing her of something that she hadn’t meant to imply with her question. “I didn’t … I hadn’t thought that you were. I was just … I meant to say …”

Anders stopped and turned to face her so suddenly that she almost ran into his shoulder. “I know that you might not trust me, Merrill. You were there — in Kirkwall — right in the middle of the decisions that I made.” She was about to reply when he hurried on, “But you urged Hawke to allow me to live. You told her to let me come with you to the Circle Tower to redeem myself. You … you might not have believed in me, but you were willing to give me the benefit of the doubt and let me show you that I could still care about the people that I felt were my friends. I’m willing to remember that now, Merrill, not any of the other things that just spring to my mind when I think about you.”

Merrill swallowed hard, meeting Ander’s eyes for a long moment. It was still there, lurking in the back of his gaze — the guilt that no one could assuage or lift from his shoulders. But she knew that he would see the same shadows in her own eyes: the sorrow that she still felt over the death of the entire Sabrae clan because she had chosen to pursue the lost knowledge of the elves from centuries past. She had been so single-minded in her quest that she hadn’t been able to hear the warnings from her own Keeper, her teacher and guide through the lore that the elves still remembered. Looking into his eyes, she felt a stab of pain at the memory of her failure to protect her clan — her family — and tears threatened to start rolling across her cheeks. She dashed them away and then started to where she could see Hawke’s sister waiting for them.

“A truce, then?” Anders said softly at her side. “We start again, in this new place, with our new responsibilities. We work together for the health of our new ‘clan,’ and we make sure that each of us is doing our best for everyone.”

She stopped again and faced him, extending her hand for him to shake. “Agreed. Even if I’m not at all sure what I’m promising to do yet.”

They each gripped the other’s fingers, solemnly giving their promises and receiving the same. When Merrill looked back down the pathway, Hawke’s sister was watching them, her hands on her hips, a little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“So at least that’s arranged,” she said. “It’s right through here, Merrill, and I hope you understand why we keep this in the highest secrecy.”

Following the Warden Commander, the elf mage looked around at what appeared to have been a circle of stones, now partially covered with the encroaching vines from the forest, grasses that had been able to find footholds in the dust that settled in cracks between the rocks, and a few small bushes. Some of the stones had been shattered, slipping into random piles across a flat granite circle. At one end, she saw what she thought at first was a taller slab of granite, shaped from single, golden brown stone into a tall oblong. She stepped closer, intrigued by the curves of that one, upright monolith and then she froze.

“Is that … By the Dread Wolf … I can’t …” she whispered.

Hawke’s sister crossed in front of her and walked over to place one of her hands on the curving frame of the mirror portal. “This is our eluvian, Merrill. Abelas and I used it to reach the Black City, to destroy the bindings on the Old God. We use it now to … help mages … who are afraid of what their power means or who feel that they’ve lost their way.”

“But how …” Merrill took a small step forward, her arm extending almost without her thinking about it toward the dull surface of the eluvian. “How did you use it? What spells did you cast? Was there any other place that you could travel …” It was an effort for her to stop the flood of questions that occurred to her as she stared at the darkened mirror, searching for a reflection in the murky depths. But there was some trick of the elven artifact that any light that hit it seemed to be sucked beyond the surface to disappear, forgotten, somewhere on the other side.

“We really don’t know that much about it,” the Warden Commander said. “But we do know how to activate it and make some use of it. The thing is, we don’t want anyone else trying to make use of it. So I want to hide it a little better so that no one accidentally finds it.”

Merrill looked around at the thick brush and forest that grew just beyond the circle of stones. “That doesn’t seem likely, but I’ll do what I can to help.”

The Warden Commander walked around the stone circle, motioning for Anders to join them. “All I want to do is … encourage … the plants to fill in many of the spaces around here. Anders and I know some spells that another mage taught us. We hope that you might know something that you can use, too, Merrill.”

Tilting her head to one side, she considered what she had learned from the Keepers that she had served. “I should be able to help,” she said, shifting her staff to her other hand and looking around for the best place to begin her spellwork.

“We’ll tell you more about what we’ve been able to do with the eluvian when we get back to the village,” Anders said. “But right now, we need to make it a little harder for people to get to it.”

Merrill saw him look over at Hawke’s sister, and the Grey Warden Commander moved closer to the brush growing on one side of the clearing. Extending her staff in front of her, she channeled the stone to light. The elf mage could feel the movement of the mana around her and watched to see how the magic would be applied to the flora ringing the eluvian and its clearing. Losing herself in the patterns, she watched Hawke’s sister weave her spells, jumping suddenly when a vine snaked past her ankle, its leaves whispering across an open patch of skin that her sandals didn’t cover. After a few minutes, Anders started creating his own magic with the foliage, and Merrill saw the barrier around the circle darken and fill in, as if a hedge were being erected to protect the mirror portal.

No! she thought in a desperate moment, they can’t cut me off from it. Turning her back on the magics that Anders and Hawke’s sister were creating, she quickly explored the circle, finding a place where the rapid, almost uncontrolled growth of the forest hadn’t filled in one of the still-open spots. Beginning her own weaving, she drew pieces of the forest toward her, encouraging them to see her vision. She shaped an opening and then adding a section that would appear solidly overgrown, but would respond to her requests for it to move aside and admit her so that she could study the eluvian in the future. Searching her memory for a spell that would close the opening until she asked for passage, she absentmindedly reached for the little knife at her belt, remembering the barriers that she had dispelled on Sundermount when she had first met Hawke. If she could impress the quality of her blood into the spell that she was creating, the portal would open only for her.

Because she was so focused on what she was creating, she didn’t realize that Anders had walked up beside her until he felt his long fingers close around the wrist that was holding the knife. Temporarily looping the strands of her magic together, she looked up into his drawn face and followed the direction of his gaze.

“No, Merrill,” he choked out, his grip tightening for a brief moment. “No blood magic. We don’t need it.”

“But Anders … I can’t … it means so much to me … to my people,” she frowned. “I can’t let you just lock it away with no hope of it ever being used again.”

“It won’t be,” he replied, not loosing his hold on her arm. “We still need it to help the mages who will let us, but we can’t provide that option with Fenris away.”

She pulled against his fingers, trying to relieve the sense of being restrained that his grip was creating inside of her. Tugging more anxiously, she took a step away from Anders, feeling a panicking sensation threaten to overtake her. Instinctively, she tightened her hold of the handle of her knife, bending her knees so that she could have a better angle if she needed to move forward suddenly. She saw a worried frown cross his face and the fingers of his other hand tightened on the smooth wood of his staff.

“There’s no need, Merrill,” he argued. “Nothing is going to happen. We’ll keep it safe.”

“No, you can’t take it from me.” Her motions became more frantic. “It’s an heirloom — a bridge to everything that my people have lost. It needs to be studied …”

She could hear Anders continuing to argue with her, but all she could think of was her need to justify the doorway that she was creating and to get her arm away from the hold that the other mage maintained on it. Her mouth moved almost without her willing it to, words spilling from her lips in a frustrated need to justify every decision she had made in the last decade of her life. If she could understand a way to make the eluvian work, maybe she could finally discover something that could give the elves a better sense of pride in their history and their role in the establishment of the nations of Thedas.

Struggling even more energetically, she continued to argue with Anders, closing her eyes tightly until she felt another hand close around her arm. Her lids flew up, and she saw Hawke’s sister looking over at her, patient understanding on her face. She froze under the watch of those deep, brown eyes and let the knife fall from her fingers. Anders immediately released his hold on her arm and took a long step away from the two women.

“Merril,” the Warden Commander said to her, her voice soft and compassionate, “you won’t lose it. I swear that to you. But I can’t let anything or anyone threaten what we’ve learned to do with it, because it could be too important to too many people. People gifted with magic and those who aren’t. You’re welcome to visit the eluvian whenever you want.”

“But you won’t let me use it,” she said, frowning deeply. “You won’t tell me the way that you discovered to activate it or let me try to find my own ways to use it.”

Hawke’s sister shook her head. “No, I won’t. Because we can’t afford to lose you if something goes wrong.”

“I …” she gasped and blinked rapidly. It had been years since anyone had said that they valued what she could do, that she was more than simply a burden on them. “I don’t understand.”

“Anders has his gifts,” the Warden Commander said. “But they have their limits. And Clement will have to report to an outpost at some point. We need you here, Merrill.”

She shook her head. “I can’t give you anything. There’s nothing …”

“There’s plenty that you can do,” Anders added hurriedly. “You can keep my Mabari and Hawke’s from following us. You can help make the elven mages feel more comfortable with being here. You can weed out the templars and the rabble rousers before they can affect the other people. You can keep me from killing the ones who just won’t listen to me or let me help them.”

Merrill giggled and looked over at Hawke’s sister, who rolled her eyes. “Those are some of the reason, of course,” the Warden Commander said. “But you should know that my reason — my primary reason — is that I believe you have the best chance of helping everyone in our village escape into forests if they are threatened in any way. I need you to watch over them, Merrill, to guard them until I can return.”

She swallowed hard, unbelieving that someone would trust her with so much responsibility after everything that she had done. Looking back and forth between the two mages, she tried to discover whether there was something else that they weren’t telling her, a secret that would suddenly emerge to destroy the hope that she had suddenly started feeling. “I suppose … I mean, I’d like to help. If you’re sure.”

Hawke’s sister smiled at her and led her over to the doorway that she had been creating. “We’re sure,” she said. “Now show me what you had been intending with your portal here, and we’ll see what we can do to allow you in when you want to visit the eluvian.”


	7. Part Two • Chapter One • Kaaras

Kaaras looked over at the leader of the mercenary band, Shokrakar, fighting as hard as he ever had to keep his emotions from his face. It wasn’t appropriate for him to show how he was feeling — neither as a younger member of the group nor as a mage. Under the Qun, the holy book that guided the lives of the Qunari people, his talent would have forced him to be chained to a master with his lips sewn together to prevent his using his power without permission. As Vashoth, those who had been born outside of the Qun, he was able to train his magical abilities and use them to help his brothers- and sisters-in-arms as he chose.

Still, he was a mage. No one, even those who appreciated his power or who had benefitted from his healing, felt that a mage was ever truly trustworthy. His parents had warned him of that, over and over again, drumming it into his head until he almost felt it with every beat of his heart. Magic was dangerous. Keep yourself calm. Don’t give them a reason to chain you, to control you, to make you little more than a slave to their demands.

And he had listened. To this day, he rarely spoke, communicating with grunts and movements of his head and hands when he needed to express himself. He had also learned to keep his face still, no matter what he was actually thinking or feeling. It helped everything seem safer — especially because his stony silence usually kept people from interacting with him.

It was safer for him. In the long run, it might be safer for other people, too.

He studied Shokrakar’s face for another long moment, noticing the smirk that was pulling up one side of the Qunari’s narrow mouth. Their leader had gotten where she was through battle, her respect earned over years of protecting those who followed her with a fierce possessiveness and an eye to their bottom line. Her grayish skin was marked with the reminders of a hundred blade thrusts, puckering scars just a shade lighter than the flesh around it — and there was so much flesh for them to cover. As tall as Kaaras was, their leader still stood above him, one of the spreading horns on the top of her head broken near the place where it sprouted from her wide skull. Everything about the female was thick: the strong neck needed to support the Qunari’s horns, broad shoulders and torso that rippled with muscles, down to the tree-trunk thighs to hold up the entire business. The woman’s size hadn’t made her their leader, but it certainly had helped.

“So what do you think about my little idea,” she asked, that smirk deepening and emphasizing the scar that ran across her cheek.

He was about to shake his head, to tell Shokrakar that he wasn’t interested in her insane scheme, when his sister stepped in front of him and spoke.

“We’ll do it,” Hissera said, crossing her arms on her chest.

Shokrakar frowned and pointed at him. “I picked him for this mission, Little Gnat, not you. You’re not part of the Valo-Kas, so there’s no reason for you to go where I send him.”

He could feel his sister tense at the use of the nickname that the mercenary leader had given her, and he quickly moved to keep Hissera from saying something that would get her into even more trouble. Clicking his tongue, he caught Shokrakar’s attention and motioned to his sister, trying to make it clear to the woman that if she sent him, his sister would have to go with him, too.

Safer for Shokrakar. Safer for the Valo-Kas. Safer for Hissera.

Probably not safer for him, but what choice did he really have? Hissera was his responsibility, had been since their parents had died in a raid by bandits in the village where they had been living outside of the Qun. With her dying breath, his mother had told him to take care of his little sister, to watch over her and help her grow. And to keep her far, far away from the strictures of Qunari society. Becoming part of the Valo-Kas had made that possible for him, even if they hadn’t accepted Hissera among their ranks. He couldn’t afford for his sister to get them thrown out on their asses, and if that meant accepting this stupid mission that Shokrakar had dreamed up, he supposed he had better do it.

“There, you see,” Hissera was saying to the mercenary leader. “I go where he goes. He’s made that perfectly clear.”

“You buzz at me one more time, Little Gnat,” Shokrakar said threateningly, “and you will find yourself swatted across the camp. This is between Kaaras and me. Not you. Now be a good little pest and shoo!”

Reaching out, he pulled his sister to one side and stepped in front of her, blocking Shokrakar’s view of Hissera as well as he could. He kept one of his hands wrapped around her wrist and looked expectantly up at the mercenary leader.

“What?” she snapped, the smile completely disappearing from her face. “Do you need me to spell it out for you again? I hadn’t thought it was such a difficult idea to grasp, Kaaras.”

He shook his head and motioned with the hand that wasn’t holding Hissera. The older woman took it as her signal to repeat her plan and started speaking.

“It’s as simple as tripping,” she said to him, turning to pace away with her hands clasped behind her back. “I think it’s in everyone’s best interest for us to know what the result of this conclave that the Divine of the Chantry has called. If she manages to broker a peace between the templars and the mages, we’ll be able to move farther south. And if we get the information first, we’ll be able to get a jump on any of the other mercenaries who might think that they should do the same thing.”

Without thinking, he shook his head and looked up just in time to see Shokraka glancing over her shoulder at him. He could feel his stomach drop toward his feet when his eyes met hers, and he stopped himself from moving, willing his face to stay serene.

“I thought the same thing, Kaaras,” she said, turning to face him again. “These mages and templars are stupid — undisciplined. They don’t understand what their chaos does to everyday people like us, people just trying to make a living. And it’s pretty likely they’ll be equally as stupid when it comes to making any kind of deal with each other. Honestly, the only way that we come out of this whole thing ahead of the game is if we’re there and know what happens exactly when it happens. And that’s up to you.”

He was about to reluctantly nod when he felt Hissera tug against his grip. Stepping to one side, he pointed to his sister and hoped that his expression made it clear Shokrakar that he was asking her permission to take Hissera with him. He waited patiently while the mercenary leader studied his face, struggling against the urgent thrumming in his body that warned him to run. Even hearing the Qunari woman sigh didn’t lessen the feeling of rising panic in his gut.

“Fine,” Shokrakar said shortly. “Take the Little Gnat with you. It’s not like she could take your place if we get any jobs in the near future.” She crossed her arms, sighing heavily again. “You should leave now, as soon as you can pack your things. We have to move north to see whether we can find another job, and it would be useless for you to have to cross that distance twice.” Stepping forward, she extended her hand to him. “Good luck, Kaaras. I know you’ll be able to find us when you’ve completed this job.”

He nodded and clasped forearms with her. Because his fingers were still wrapped around Hissera’s wrist, he dragged her forward to face Shokrakar, ignoring his sister’s squeal of protest and her tugging against his hand. Forcing her to face the leader of the mercenaries, he watched the battle of wills between the two women as they stared each other down. He didn’t know what he had been hoping for; he just knew that he couldn’t take Hissera away without giving her a chance to make a better impression on the older woman.

When Shokrakar turned and walked away, he knew that the moment had passed. Dropping his sister’s wrist, he started across the camp toward his tent, not bothering to stop to make sure that Hissera was following him. He was ready to be gone, hoping that he could complete the mercenary leader’s mission and return in a few short weeks. And the sooner he was on his way, the better he would feel.

“What was that about?” Hissera asked, grabbing his arm and trying to spin him around to look at her. When he pulled away and kept moving forward, she fell in step beside him, matching his stride, her hands moving to emphasize her agitation. “She doesn’t like me, Kaaras, and she’s never going to. You can’t change that.”

He grunted, stopping outside his tent and turning to look at his sister. “Why, Hissera?”

Her eyebrows came together over her broad nose, and she waited for a long moments before she spoke to him. “I … I’m sorry, Kaaras. I just couldn’t … I couldn’t stay in the background any longer. I can be useful to the Valo-Kas, but she’s never going to let me be. At least this way, I might be able to find something else. Maybe another mercenary group or a job as a bodyguard. But I’m never going to be able to do anything different if I’m still here with them.”

“I know that,” he said softly, “but this isn’t the answer. We don’t know what this Andrastrian priestess hopes to accomplish.”

“That’s part of what we’re going to find out, of course,” Hissera said, laughing at him. “Honestly, is any result that bad for us? Either she manages to get the mages and the templars to stop fighting and then things go back to the way they were, or they kill each other. That should take care of it.”

Kaaras wished that everything could appear so black and white to him. He knew that neither of the options that his sister had spelled out would end as easily or neatly as she seemed to think. If the agreement that the Divine created reformed the Circle Towers and the responsibilities of the templars, the mages would eventually end up with the same complaints that had started this entire rebellion. And if they just tried to wait for the mages and templars to kill each other in enough numbers to halt their aggression — well, no one could predict how long that would take and what other factions could be drawn into the conflict. Or who would take advantage of the disarray and invade.

Like the Qunari.

He wondered whether anyone had considered that option since the rebellion had started. His parents had always taught him that those who lived under the Qun believed that theirs was an unshakeable order — a regimented logic of each person’s place in the world and their responsibilities. There wasn’t room for individuality, self-expression, or personal choice. You were born for your role in the world, and that was your role in the world. Period.

The Qunari also believed that their unshakeable order would bring peaceful acceptance of the inevitable to all people, if they could simply be guided to accept its truth. Or forced to accept it. At the point of a sword.

“Kaaras, look,” Hissera said, placing a hand on his arm, “this might not be the best way for me — for us — to get away from the Valo-Kas, but it’s what we’ve got right now. If things work out for me, you’ll be able to come back to your place. And I’ll have something that I can finally call my own.”

He sighed and reached for the pack that was hanging from the upright support pole at the front of his tent. Kneeling in the dust, he started pulling the stakes from the ground, watching the canvas collapse like his hopes of staying hidden in the wilderness of Thedas.

“Get packed,” he said to his sister and started folding his tent into a compact square of fabric.


	8. Part Two • Chapter Two • Rhoane Amell

“Is there a chance that I’ll ever be warm again?” Jaya asked, dragging her foot out of a muddy puddle in their path and shaking as much of the damp soil off the sole of her boot as she could. “Or have dry feet? I’d take either one right now.”

Rhoane sighed, adjusting the strap of the fabric sling that held Leandra strapped against her chest and continued forward. They’d spent most of the day traveling across the Fields of Ghislain, trying their best to avoid other travelers and patrols of soldiers. All soldiers. Because banners and surcoats could be changed, but armor was armor. So there was never a way to know who would welcome them and who wouldn’t.

To her, their inability to freely interact with the people that they encountered on the road seemed to reinforce the sense of failure that she was feeling. Every effort they had made, every connection they had tried to establish had slipped through her fingers. They had managed to reconnect with Bethany on the road to Cumberland, only to discover that the Divine had moved the First Enchanter’s vote to the mage’s tower, the White Spire, in Val Royeaux. And when they had finally reached the great walls of the capital city of Orlais, they had found that they were barred to anyone entering, because one of the Queen’s cousins was openly rebelling against her rule.

Jaya had argued that it was better that they hadn’t managed to get her sisters into the First Enchanters’ meeting, considering what had happened next. Because the mages had chosen to rebel against the control of the templars, starting a battle in the gathering hall of the Circle Tower, staining the floors of the immaculate White Spire red with the blood of those who could wield magic and those who couldn’t. The battle had raged for hours, spilling down through the dungeons of the soaring Tower and into the sewers under the great city. Hawke had managed to find a way into the drainage system and track the progress that the combatants had made, had followed the largest group of mages when they had spilled out along the coastline, her rogue abilities helping get close enough to eavesdrop on the conversations between those who had managed to escape.

That was how they had ended up in Andoral’s Reach — or at least in the hills surrounding the ancient fortification. Once again, Jaya’s abilities had kept them informed, had let them know that the mages had voted for their independence. There, in the crumbling ruin that still provided enough protection that, when the templars came — and they would come — the battle could go on and on. At least that was what the growing despair in Rhoane’s soul told her.

Especially after she had learned of Wynne’s death in the sewers under Val Royeaux.

It had broken her heart to know that one of her companions, the brave souls who had ended the Blight, had died. She had never seriously considered that they would every leave her — as much as they hadn’t been together in years. To know that the gentle, determined mage wasn’t still around to chastise her when she used foul language or to remind her to keep her temper in check made Rhoane feel as if she were standing on the edge of a void. The darkness loomed all around her, and the one person who had always been able to light her way was gone.

It was because of Wynne that she had even begun to think that there could be a cure for the Grey Wardens, a way to dispel the taint in their blood. She and Leliana had shown her that there was something more to live for after Alistair had been taken from her by his duty to the kingdom of Ferelden. In some way, Abelas and Leandra — even her new relationships with her sisters — were because Wynne had shown her a way into the future.

Rhoane had struggled every day since she had stood at the foot of the tree. The tree that marked the place where her friend had been buried. She searched in her mind for a reason for her to be where she was, a justification for the danger that surrounded her husband and child, her sisters and their lovers. But there was nothing: a void, yawning at her feet, dared her to take a step forward and be lost.

She was grateful when Bethany answered Jaya, telling the Champion of Kirkwall that she had gotten soft living in that estate in the city with servants to care for her every need. Her two younger sisters bickered back and forth, trying unsuccessfully to draw their partners into their banter.

Rhoane ignored the chatter, focusing instead on the creak of the wheels of the ox-cart that carried their weapons and provisions. It created a rhythm that she could match, creak and then step, step and listen for the creak, forcing her feet forward. Because if she stopped, the void would open under her, and she would be lost.

Her attempt to reach the First Enchanter’s vote in Cumberland had been a failure. She hadn’t been at the uprising at the White Spire in Val Royeaux. She hadn’t observed the mage’s final vote in the ancient fortress of Andoral’s Reach. She had lost one of the companions of her battle against the Blight.

She had failed.

Pain shot through her, and she stumbled, catching herself by grabbing hold of Abelas’s arm. Dropping the lead rein that he was using to guide the ox, he wrapped her in a strong embrace, looking into her eyes. She saw the concern in his face and tried to smile at him, but the memory of Wynne’s stern frown swam up in front of her. Sucking in her breath, she dropped her head onto her husband’s shoulder and fought to control the despair that washed through her in waves. She felt his arms tighten around her, cradling her gently and protecting their daughter between them.

The creak of the cart’s wheels stopped, and her need keep moving drained away. Focusing on her breathing, she struggled against the tears that threatened to blur her vision and spill across her cheeks. Finally, she was able to take in a deep breath and raise her head to look up into her husband’s green eyes for a moment before he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead.

“We will stop early tonight, ma vhenan,” he whispered. “We can all use more rest.”

She nodded and let him lead her to the back of the cart, resting against his chest when he lifted her and settled her among the blankets that they had in the back. Dropping in among cushioning, she moved Leandra gently against her body, focusing on the warmth of her baby against her. When the ox-cart began moving, the rocking motion lulled her until she drifted to sleep.

When she awoke a short time later, the wagon had stopped moving, and Leandra had been removed from her place against her mother’s chest. Abelas appeared and extended his hand to her, helping her down onto the ground and leading her into the weathered barn that they had managed to find at the edge of an abandoned orchard. Stepping past the unhinged door that still blocked the entrance, she found Bethany sitting on a mouldering pile of hay with Leandra in her lap. Her sister looked up and smiled at her.

“Here’s Mama,” she said, turning the baby so that she could Rhoane could see her face. When her daughter saw her, she extended her arms and smiled brightly back at her. She settled into the hay next to her sister and scooped Leandra up against her chest. “Feeling a little better, are we?”

“For now,” she admitted. “We’ll see how things are in the morning, I suppose.”

Hawke walked through the doorway, a pile of their blankets in her arms. “Abelas has gone to see whether he can find anything on the edges of the orchard. He’s promised to be back before the sun sets.” Rhoane met her eyes and saw the frown that pressed between her brows. “What was that all about?” her sister asked, her arms crossing on her chest. When she didn’t immediately respond, Jaya turned quickly on her heel and left the barn.

The Grey Warden Commander drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was no reason for her to share her pain and doubts with Hawke and Bethany. She had held so many secrets, closely guarding them for years, starting with her friendships in the Circle Tower in the middle of Lake Calenhad. The reason why she was so not like herself was another thing that she could keep closed away to protect her family from her uncertainty and heartache.

Uncertainty and heartache. The foundation of her life outside of the tower in Lake Calenhad had been to defeat the darkspawn and the Archdemon when she had no way of knowing how that could be accomplished. And then she had had to marry the man she had loved to the queen of Ferelden, simply to ensure that she had the armies that she needed for the battle against the Blight.

Uncertainty and heartache.

She could feel herself teetering on the edge of the black void again when Leandra reached up and patted her little hand on her cheek. Surprised at her daughter’s touch, she traced down the curve of the baby’s nose, laughing softly when the little girl reached up and wrapped her hand around Rhoane’s finger.

When Bethany stood up, the Warden Commander looked up at her, a question in her face.

“We’re leaving,” her youngest sister said, bending over to pick up her staff from among the dried bits of hay. “Stroud’s heard some rumors of Grey Warden movement, and he wants to investigate. We’re going to the northern coast of Ferelden to follow his information.”

Rhoane nodded. She had know from the beginning that they couldn’t stay together the entire time, but she hadn’t expected to be separated from her family so early. “If you’re traveling along the coast, why don’t you make Amaranthine your final goal? That will give Jaya and I some idea of a route to try to locate you along, and the seneschal will welcome you. Just tell him that you’re my sister.”

Laughing, Bethany said, “Just like that? Will they give us your Commander’s quarters, too?”

Remembering the bed that Noble, her Mabari war hound, had broken once, she shook her head. “I doubt you’d find it very comfortable. It wasn’t really made for more than one person.”

Bethany reached out and took Leandra from her arms, tossing the baby into the air and catching her while the little girl giggled. Rising from the hay, Rhoane followed them out of the barn, shading her eyes against the slanting light of the late afternoon sun.

“Are you certain you want to go now? It will be dark much sooner than you think.”

Shaking her head, her sister walked over to where Stroud, Hawke, and Fenris were waiting with the two Grey Wardens’ horses. While the Grey Warden Commander watched, Bethany kissed her niece on the forehead and turned to look at her lover, a wistful smile on her face. To Rhoane’s surprise, the Warden-Lieutenant reached out to take Leandra in his arms and press his lips to the baby’s cheek. Her daughter pulled away, her tiny fingers reaching to touch the hair of Stroud’s long mustache, while he laughed at her curiosity. He bussed her gently on the nose and then turned to place the baby in Abelas’s arms.

The two Grey Wardens mounted, and Rhoane looked up, studying their determined faces. Bethany and Stroud were traveling into a maelstrom where every moment would be filled with danger. But she couldn’t keep them from going. More than anyone, she understood what drove Stroud’s curiosity: the Grey Wardens spent their entire lives waiting for the moment when the darkspawn erupted from the earth and spread their foul taint to the peoples of Thedas. They never knew where the creatures would come from or how driven they would be to drive their destruction across the land. The only way they could be ready was to explore and learn about the threats that were waiting for them.

Which meant that Stroud and Bethany had to leave.

Hawke called to her sister, “You know there are ways to get messages to us. Make sure that you use them if you need them. And try to keep your mage-y-ness under control. You’re not going to be making any friends by setting them on fire.”

“If I try it a few more times on you, will it keep you away, Sister?” Bethany asked sweetly. Jaya laughed shortly, walking up to the horse’s side and reaching up to squeeze her sister’s hand.

“Be safe.” Hawke whispered and then crossed to stand beside Fenris, who had his arms folded on his chest, his forehead creased by a deep frown. Rhoane felt frozen, uncertain whether she should say anything to the sister that she barely knew and the Warden-Lieutenant. They knew their duty; they didn’t need her reminders.

Looking down at the ground, she felt the void open at her feet.

She ignored the clop of horse’s hooves, certain that when she looked up all she would see would be her sister’s back. Instead, she saw the edge of the Grey Warden mage’s stirrup come into her view and glanced up into her sister’s face. When she leaned closer, Rhoane stepped up beside her mount and studied her eyes.

“It’s not you, Sister,” Bethany whispered, placing one of her hands on the Warden Commander’s shoulder. “There will be some things that you can’t fix. But together, we’ll do the best we can for each other.”

Meeting the deep brown eyes that were so like her own, Rhoane reached up and placed her palm against her youngest sister’s face. “Be careful. Watch out for each other. We’ll see you as soon as possible. And remember: the village is your home. You can always go there.”

Bethany nodded and sat back up in her saddle, guiding her horse to beside Stroud’s and starting with him down the dirt track that led to the main road. When they passed through the opening in the little wall that separated the barnyard from the fields, Rhoane saw her sister turn in the saddle and wave back at them.

Lifting her hand in response, she looked over at where Abelas, Hawke, and Fenris were standing. Rhoane saw her daughter snuggled in her husband’s arms and watched while the little girl opened and closed her hand, watching as the two horses and their riders as they disappeared into the growing twilight.

“I’m going to take a walk,” she said suddenly and started in the direction of a small grove of trees, her feet moving as quickly as she could make them. She would have run, but she didn’t want anyone to follow her. Forcing her pace to a deliberate slowness, she focused on the trees in front of her and moved, step after step, until she felt the cool of the leafy shadows on her face.

Inhaling deeply, she let the musty damp soothe her nerves while she followed a game trail farther into the forest. The whisper of the wind through the leaves created a rattling that seemed to be always just ahead of her. She followed the sound without even thinking about it, letting the earthy smells and sudden bright flashes of bird flight or flower petals stir her sense of wonder as she pushed through the underbrush. The purity of the nature around her suffused her senses, dimming the pull of the void and stirring a sense of wholeness that she hadn’t felt since they had left the village in Merrill and Anders’s care. Pausing to close her eyes and luxuriate in the refreshing sensation, Rhoane lost herself in the rightness of it.

Until the knife blade pressed against her throat.

A dark voice whispered in her ear, “Don’t move. If you do, you won’t survive it.”

She stilled and let her eyes slip open to see the broad expanse of a chest directly in front of her. From the grey tinge of the skin, she knew that it was a Qunari, she tipped her head back until she met his amber-colored eyes. He frowned down at her, but she saw more curiosity than anger in his face.

“Who are you?” a female voice, the one that was holding the dagger at her throat, asked threateningly. “What are you doing here?”

“Walking,” Rhoane said softly before she could stop herself. The honed steel edge of the blade pressed more tightly against her skin, and she could feel a trickle of blood wending its way toward her collarbone. Pushing down the panicky anger that surged through her, she gently reached for the mana that flushed through the foliage and earth around her. At the very least, she reasoned, she would be able to create a shield of force that would push this rogue away from her and protect her from injury.

It was one of the stories that kept mages safer: that they could only do magic when they had a staff in their hand. A misleading idea that truly was ridiculous when you thought about it, because no child exhibiting magic for the first time was ever holding a staff. So she prepared to act when the moment was right, dragging mana toward her in thin little driblets.

She started when the male Qunari in front of her spoke. “Stop,” he said, and she felt the knife edge withdraw slightly. When he moved, she noticed the staff that he had in one hand, and she also stopped drawing mana toward her.

“Why?” the woman behind her asked. “We don’t know why she’s here, Kaaras.”

“She’s walking,” the Qunari mage replied. “Let her go.”

The blade-wielder growled low in her throat and shoved Rhoane away. Stumbling forward, she tried to catch herself before she fell to the ground, but what actually saved her was the large hand of the mage wrapping around her arm. He helped her upright until he was certain that she wouldn’t fall, then turned and walked toward the edge of the forest. The woman who had held her, who was also a Qunari, hurried after the mage, chattering the entire time.

“Are you sure? Normal people don’t just wander around in the forest, you know.”

“We’re in the forest,” was his reply. Rhoane giggled.

He stopped and turned back to look at her, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I had heard of Qunari mages, of course,” she said, for some reason wanting to know about him. “But I thought that they had people …”

“We’re not of the Qun,” the woman said. “My brother is restrained by his own will.”

“And you,” Rhoane said, looking the warrior up and down. “You’re not a priest, artisan, farmer, or shopkeeper. Someone once told me that that was all that women could be in life.”

“Again, we’re not of the Qun,” she replied. “I chose what I was good at.” Her shrug communicated more than her words did, and the Warden Commander moved past them toward the barn.

When they reached the edge of the woods, she stopped, suddenly aware of the pounding of horses’ hooves. Looking around the curve of a tall tree, she saw a group of templars riding under canopy of the wildly growing orchard. Holding up her hand, she whispered to the other mage, “You should probably find another route, or perhaps remain in the forest. The templars will take you for being a mage. You need to avoid them.”

The Qunari looked in the direction of the barn, which blocked the templars from their view. Rhoane saw him look over at the woman, who nodded in response and started back between the trees. Following the pathway that she took with his eyes, he waited for a few moments, until his sister had disappeared into the shadows.

“Thank you,” he said, extending his hand. “You’re not going that way, are you?”

Taking his hand, she shook it and then nodded. “I have to. My family is there.”

“Mine is there,” he said, pointing in the direction the rogue had gone.

Rhoane heard the thundering rattle of hooves and tack again and stepped out from behind the tree. “Good luck,” she said and walked toward the barn. When she reached the corner of the building, she looked back over her shoulder, but the Qunaris had disappeared.


	9. Part Two • Chapter Three • Fenris

Closing the door to his chamber behind him, Fenris slipped down the hall toward the private room where Hawke was waiting for him. He couldn’t be comfortable here, enclosed by walls and where they had fewer options for escape. There were templars hunting for mages, mages looking for templars to destroy, and there was still always the possibility that an uninformed slaver would be coming after him for the one-time reward for his return to his Tevinter master. Too many risks and too much comfort which could encourage them all to drop their guards.

Not that the waterfront inn where they were staying was the finest hostelry along the northern coast of the Waking Sea, but then again, it wasn’t the worst. They had chosen it because it would be safe enough for Rhoane and Leandra to stay here without having to hire a small complement of bodyguards.

But if Fenris had had his way, they would have been half way across the sea right now. He had tried to convince Hawke and Rhoane that they could camp safely on the outskirts of the city and wait until they were certain they had passage — then they could all venture into the dangers of people and close-packed places. But he had been overruled. So here they were, walled in and waiting.

Late this afternoon, he and Abelas had managed to find a ship that was leaving in the morning for the coast of Ferelden, and they had been able to secure passage for everything except their cart. He had left the Warden Commander’s husband at the barn, where the other elf had started a heated negotiation with one of the stable hands to sell the wagon and the ox that pulled it. Returning to his chamber, he had realized that Hawke wasn’t there and had taken the time to strip off the armor he had worn to visit the docks. He had managed to sponge away most of the accumulated stench of fish and the smoke from fires that heated pitch to waterproof the boats. All he had to do now was find Jaya.

After he had turned the key in the lock, he started down the shadowed hallway toward the steep stairs that would take him to the small room that they had reserved for their dinner. The flickering of the candle sconces created little motions that set his nerves on edge, certain that something or someone would step from the black around him at any moment. Looking back over his shoulder, he studied the short hallway and the shadows that seemed to crowd around his door. There was nothing there, of course, but he also couldn’t ignore the warnings that raced to the very tips of every nerve in his body.

Flexing his hands, he inhaled deeply and moved past the deep darkness of a short hallway that led off toward the back of the inn. He was about to start down the stairs when a voice stopped him.

“Hey, Broody,” a man said to him. “Glad to see she finally got you out of that spiky armor.”

Fenris turned and looked down into the face of the dwarf, Varric, who had been one of Hawke’s companions in Kirkwall. He and his brother had made it possible for Jaya to earn enough money to purchase her mother’s estate in the center of the city. The dwarf had been his companion in battle, his confidant when he had struggled with his feeling for Hawke, and a complete pain in his ass.

For some reason, he was grateful to see the dwarf standing in the shadows of the hallway.

“Varric,” he said, starting down the steps. “I assume you’re looking for Hawke.”

“Not in particular,” the dwarf replied, “but I suppose I’ll enjoy seeing her. Do you think she has time for a game of Wicked Grace? Or that she has any gold that she’d be willing to lose to me?”

Fenris didn’t reply, stepping into the private room before Varric could and holding the door open for him. He looked over at Hawke, trying to warn her without saying anything, but it wasn’t necessary. The dwarf was a storyteller, after all, which usually meant that he was talking … and talking … all the time. Fenris wasn’t even sure what the other man had been saying to him, but he was certain that it didn’t matter, because it seemed that, as soon as Varric saw Jaya, Fenris was forgotten.

“Hawke!” Varric called merrily, crossing toward where she was sitting next to her sister on a small couch. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that …”

When he stopped suddenly, Fenris closed the door and looked over at him. The dwarf was standing completely still half way through the room, his eyes focused on the two women and the baby. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, until he finally managed to speak. “Hawke, I don’t think that I know your friend. But I have to tell you, madam, that from all the descriptions that I’ve ever heard, you look remarkably like the Hero of Ferelden.”

Fenris saw Rhoane smile over at the dwarf and then she reached down to steady her daughter, who was holding on to the edges of the sofa and walking back and forth in tiny steps. The baby, because she had heard a new voice, turned too quickly and wobbled for a few moments before sitting down suddenly. The Warden Commander laughed gently and bent over farther, but the little girl turned and started crawling across the floor, stopping at the tips of the dwarf’s boots and sitting back so that she could look up at him.

Varric looked down at the baby and back at the Champion of Kirkwall. “Hawke?” he said slowly, “I don’t think we’ve been apart for that long, have we?”

Jaya stood and crossed to the dwarf, extending her hand. “This is a surprise, Varric. I didn’t know that you had left the Free Marches.”

“I hadn’t actually planned to,” he said, walking to the fire and warming his hands in the heat from the glowing logs. “But I heard some rumors, and unfortunately, I wasn’t able to confirm them without getting personally involved.”

Fenris had just started across the room when the door opened, and Abelas joined them. He saw the other elf slide the portal closed and lean back against the wooden frame, and motioned for him to join them. The other elf nodded at him, but stayed where he was.

Hawke caught his eye and smiled ruefully. “Do you have any other engagements this afternoon, Varric? Because this could take a while to explain.”

“For you, Hawke, my evening is completely free.”

She was about to speak when Fenris heard a rapping noise. When Abelas opened the door, the landlord walked in, followed by elven servants who laid a number of plates and pitchers on the table. Rhoane had scooped Leandra from the floor and walked with the baby over to where her husband was standing near the door.

“Would you like me to bring the meal that you ordered into this room?” one of the elves asked Varric on her way out of the room.

“Just the ale,” he replied, settling into a chair and pulling a tray of whole, cooked chickens toward him. “This looks much better than what I had planned for my dinner.”

Fenris took a seat beside Hawke and began choosing his own dinner. A strange silence settled around the people at the table until after the kitchen elf had brought Varric’s ale.

“I probably should make some introductions,” Hawke said, motioning with her knife. “This is Varric, everyone, and you know what he’s done for me. Varric, this is my sister, Rhoane Amell, her husband, Abelas, and their daughter, Leandra.”

“Leandra?” the dwarf asked. “Like your mother.”

“Like our mother. Rhoane is my sister.”

Varric’s fork clattered against his plate, and he stared over at the Warden Commander, a frown creasing his forehead. “Another sister? Haven’t you had enough trouble with the one that I already knew about, Hawke?”

“It’s not like I picked her out at a shop. We met in Antiva City, where I went as the guest of that very nice assassin that Isabela introduced us to.”

“You mean the one that she took into her bed immediately after we rescued him from the Crows? That assassin?”

Fenris gripped the knife in his hand tightly and stared steadily at the plate in front of him. That assassin, Zevran Arainai, had welcomed him, Hawke, and Isabela into what was supposed to be his home when they had fled Kirkwall after the destruction of the Chantry and the mages’ rebellion. It was there that they had met a pregnant Rhoane and her husband.

But that wasn’t what made it almost impossible for him to meet anyone else’s eyes. It was at Zevran’s house where he had gotten so completely drunk that he hadn’t realized that he had gone to Jaya’s room instead of his own. And made love to her without knowing who she really was.

Of course, everything had worked out after that. But it wasn’t a memory that he particularly cherished.

“What’s got Broody’s knickers all bunched up?” Varric asked, picking up his fork and pointing it at him from across the table. “Did something happen between you and that other elf, Hawke?”

Jaya laughed lightly, but her hand came under the table to rest on top his thigh. “He doesn’t like to remember Antiva City, because that’s where I told him that he had to stop wearing that spiky armor all the time.”

Fenris looked up at her, joining in her subterfuge willingly. “Told? Ordered was more like it. I was afraid that you’d have your sister blast it to pieces.”

“Blast? So you’re a mage?” Fenris saw Varric glancing at Rhoane again, his eyes studying her while he lifted a mug of ale to his mouth. “I seem to remember that the Hero of Ferelden was a mage, too.”

“You have an excellent memory for tales, Varric,” Rhoane said, smiling over at him while she offered Leandra one of the cooked vegetables from her plate.

The dwarf nodded, “I have to. Juggling the Merchant Guild and the Carta and more nobles than I’ve ever been comfortable with. Remembering which story that I’ve told to one group to protect the other or me.” He tapped the tip of one finger against his forehead and continued, “It only works if I can keep it all up here.”

He looked over at Rhoane for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully on the mouthful of meat that he had stuffed between his teeth. To Fenris, the Warden Commander appeared to be focused on her daughter, allowing the little girl to play with her fork and pick up bits of food. But he doubted that the appearance conveyed more than what was on the surface of the interaction between the mage and Varric. It was an interesting play of cat and mouse, watching Varric laying traps to snare the Hero of Ferelden into telling him the truth of who she was. Fenris was curious why she didn’t simply admit it, but it was her secret. He would allow her to hold it tightly if she chose to do so.

“I can tell by your accent that you’re from Ferelden,” Varric was saying to Hawke’s sister. “Where exactly were you raised?”

Rhoane glanced over at him and smiled. “In the Circle Tower in Lake Calenhad, of course. I’m no apostate.”

“Neither was the Hero of Ferelden, of course. I suppose you knew her when you were at the Tower? It seems like you should have been trained around the same time.”

“The Tower was full of apprentices and mages when I was there. I certainly didn’t know all of them.”

“And so many of them were lost when the Tower was broken, of course,” Varric said, looking at the Warden Commander out of the corner of his eyes. “You were awfully lucky.”

Silence surrounded them suddenly, an unfathomably deep pit of quiet that Fenris didn’t know how to escape. He looked over at Hawke’s sister, but the Warden Commander’s black hair had fallen down across her face so that he couldn’t meet her eyes. The need to comfort her warred with his desire to look Varric in the face and tell him exactly what he was thinking about him right at that moment. He’d never known the dwarf to be subtle when he was dealing with other people, but he hadn’t expected him to be quite so blunt with Rhoane. It was a strange sensation for him to want to defend the mage at the table with him, but he rarely though of her as solely a mage now. She was Hawke’s sister, and she was his friend.

He needed to protect her.

Suddenly, he found himself on his feet, Hawke staring up at him, his wine glass in one hand. “To the Hero of Ferelden,” he said as a toast, struggling to keep his eyes focused on the space above Varric’s head and not on the actual Hero of Ferelden. He looked down at Jaya at his side. “And to the Champion of Kirkwall.”

She beamed up at him, answering his toast by lifting her own glass and repeating at least part of his words. After he had settled back into his chair, Hawke placed her hand on his thigh again and pressed her fingertips into his flesh. He couldn’t identify to impulse that had driven him to rise to his feet and lift his glass to the two women who had — each in her own way — worked to rescue her world from imminent disaster. But the end result was everything that he could have hoped for: Varric turned his attention to Hawke, asking her what she had been doing in the time since they had parted on the road to Antiva City, and Rhoane was able to compose herself by focusing on the disorder that Leandra was creating on the table all around her plate. Abelas asked his opinion on the wine that they were sharing, which was some local Orlesian vintage that did little to erase the lingering taste of fish and smoke that he could feel in the back of his throat.

The rest of their meal passed pleasantly enough, and their conversation stayed safely on Varric’s memories of their time in Kirkwall and his efforts to secure his family’s holdings despite the maneuvering of other members of the dwarven Merchants’ Guild. They each ate until they were satisifed, and Leandra drifted asleep against her mother’s shoulder. It wasn’t until the servants had brought in the sweets and a few more bottles of wine that Hawke finally got around to asking the dwarf why he wasn’t in the Free Marches.

“You haven’t angered every member of the Merchants’ Guild yet, have you?” she teased him.

Before he could answer, Varric slipped out of his chair and crossed to the door. Opening it enough to stick his head out into the hallway, he looked both ways and then closed the portal behind him. Returning to his chair, he drained most of the ale from his tankard before he started speaking in a low voice that they all had to strain to hear.

“I received some information from sources that I maintain in Orlais,” he whispered. “From what I’ve heard, the Divine is calling for a negotiation among the mages and the templars to try to bring an end to this war of theirs.”

“It’s about time,” Hawke said, “that someone did something about this mess.”

“Besides you,” Rhoane added softly, one hand gently stroking her daughter’s back.

Jaya frowned. “Yes, we’ve done more than enough. More than anyone knows.”

“Working in the shadows now, eh, Hawke?” Varric’s look was sour, and it was hard for Fenris to read anything from the man’s expression. “According to my source, the meeting is taking place at the Temple of Sacred Ashes — you know, the final resting place of Andraste’s remains that the Hero of Ferelden found.”

“Outside of Haven in the Frostback Mountains,” Rhoane added, almost without thinking, her eyes focused in the distance or on her memories.

Varric studied her for a moment and then continued, “I also understand that the Divine has unleashed some of her most secret operatives to search for something in Thedas.” Stopping briefly, he looked around the table, meeting each of their pairs of eyes. “Or someone.”

Fenris saw Hawke glance over at Rhoane and the moment when their eyes met. The sisters studied each others’ faces for a moment before they turned back to the dwarf.

“Something or someone?” Hawke asked. “That’s awfully vague, Varric. Don’t you have any other information to follow?”

He shook his head. “Not much, except that they seem to think that I can give them something that will help. I don’t know what that could be, but I know they’re also looking for me.”

Frowning, Fenris struggled with that feeling rose inside of him again: the need to protect someone that he knew. “Who are they? What can we do to help?” he said shortly.

Varric lifted a pitcher and filled his mug and then drained it in one long swallow. After he had wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “Nothing. I have the feeling that it will be easier for everyone if I’m on the inside of this mess anyway. I have a plan for dealing with all of this.”

“Really?” Hawked snapped. “What’s that?”

Varric’s smile twisted and didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m going to let them catch me.”


	10. Part Two • Chapter Four • Jaya Hawke

Shifting against the rocks that they were using as a shelter and a shield, Jaya squinted against the glare of light off the smooth, white surface of snow that surrounded most of passage that led toward the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It made it harder for her to monitor the progress of the two long columns of potential combatants — one for the mages and one for the templars — who had answered the call to report to the Temple for the Divine’s negotiations. Already, from the estimates that they had been able to make, the central hall of the ancient building was full of hundreds of people, and Hawke could only imagine the challenge that the organizers were facing, trying to keep the aggressors from each others’ throats.

“They’re going to need to stop letting them into the Temple, soon,” Rhoane murmured next to her. “They certainly don’t have space for them all.”

“I would hope that they’ve figured out a way to organize them behind specific representatives who will speak for the different factions,” she responded. “But it’s not my party, so …”

Rhoane chuckled and raised the spyglass up to her eye again. “I should be in there. If I could get the dwarves and the Dalish to listen to me, I surely could …”

“No,” Hawke snapped, “you couldn’t. You’re a mage. Whatever you say will be suspect from the start. Let the Divine do her work.”

Her sister nodded reluctantly and handed the glass to her. The long sailor’s instrument had been a gift from Isabela when they had parted in Antiva City. It brought the image of anything distant much closer in her vision, and it had been very useful while they watched the two sides gather in their camps in the open spaces that faced the Temple. Of course, these were fairly limited, and Hawke had managed to learn that many of the higher ranking members of both sides of the conflict had staked out claims inside of the large ruins that — until more recently — had had to be traversed in order to approach the Temple itself. But after Brother Genitivi, a researcher for the Chantry whom Rhoane had met when she was searching for the Ashes, had made it known to all of Thedas where the Temple was located, pilgrims had carved their own pathway to the entrance. That was what she and Rhoane were monitoring now.

“I’m afraid that most of these mages and templars are going to miss the bulk of the negotiations,” she said, examining the long lines of people who were still moving toward the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Rhoane chuckled softly. “You’re very optimistic, Jaya, if you think that all of this is going to be resolved in a couple of days. We’ve been here for a fortnight already, if you remember clearly.”

Sighing deeply, she turned away from the trail into the Temple and sagged back against the hard, grey rocks. At least now, with the sun rising in the sky, the stone was warm and comforting when she pressed against it. It was one of the few places that she had been able to find solace in these frigid mountains: the other was in Fenris’s arms when they were alone in their tents hidden among the rocks and brush that clung to the mountain.

“I don’t understand why the Divine insisted that they hold this conclave all the way out here in the wilderness,” she said, turning her face toward the sun and letting the warmth soak through her skin. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to invite everyone to Val Royeaux? The roads are much better, and they could have come from many more directions.”

“But then, if it all failed, all of those mages and templars would be loose in the streets of the capital,” Rhoane reasoned softly. “This location will save many lives from that threat. But I think that there’s probably a deeper reason that she’s here.”

Lifting her head from the warmth of the stone under it, Hawke squinted at her sister and waited.

“The Divine’s Orlesian, so we have to assume that she knows how to play the Game,” her sister said, slipping down into the shelter of the rock. “She’s put herself in a position of power, being the voice of the Maker for the Chantry, in this place where Andraste’s ashes were left by her most devoted followers. But there’s more than that to her choice: by holding the conclave here, she’s reminding everyone who walks through the doorways that they are the children of the Maker. Many of them are going to be good Andrastians, and the Divine is reminding them that their first duty is to Andraste and her teachings. She’s manipulating their duty to the Chantry and their guilt …”

Rhoane never got a chance to finish her thought. Afterward, Hawke couldn’t remember whether she had felt the shudder through the earth first or if the sound of the massive explosion was the thing that alerted her that something was wrong. If she and her sister hadn’t been lying on the ground, they would have lost their footing. As it was, she was pitched down the sloping side of the rock until she managed to grab hold of an exposed root and stop her downward tumble. Her sister was about to slide past her, but she reached out and grasped the Hero of Ferelden’s forearm. She was pulling Rhoane up onto the flattened area that she was sprawled across when she looked up at the sky over the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

What she saw made her stop and stare. There was no other reaction that she could possibly have.

The sky was torn open by a sickly swirl of green — like a whirlpool of evil that turned and spun — a trail of vapor forming under it, reaching down to connect the wrongness among the clouds with the shattered earth beneath it. While she watched, dark shapes started to fall from the tear in the sky, random spots of danger that Hawke couldn’t identify from this distance.

What could possibly fall from the sky and be good, though? she wondered, pulling on Rhoane’s arm as the trembling of the ground surrounding them subsided. She managed to get her sister onto the level place where she was crouching and was relieved to see that she was still clutching the spyglass in her hand. Reaching between them, she took the sailor’s instrument from her sister’s grip, lifting it and trying to focus on one of the objects plummeting from the opening. When she was finally able to follow the trajectory of one of the projectiles, Hawke studied it and felt her heart drop, like one of the objects, straight to her toes.

Demons were falling from the tear in the sky.

“Maker!” Rhoane gasped beside her. “What is that? Can you see, Jaya?”

“The sky is torn,” she reported quickly, “and there are demons falling from it. We have to go, Rhoane.”

Her sister scrambled to her feet, jumping across a slide of rock to where her staff was lodged in the branching of a small tree. Scooping it into her hand, she raced down the slope, and in another moment Hawke followed her, rushing with her to the place where they had left Fenris, Abelas, and Leandra. A shiver of fear ran down her spine when she looked back up to the sickening swirl overhead and saw lightning fork through it.

“Will it ever stop?” Rhoane called, looking in the same direction and frowning at the acidic, green opening that continued to reach across the sky, like the spreading ripples of a stone tossed into a pond.

Hawke only grunted and swerved to one side to dodge a patch of newly loosened rock in her path. She was about to catch up when Rhoane suddenly stopped in front of her, and she had to prevent herself from careening into her sister’s back. She didn’t need to look farther ahead to know why she had been forced to stop when she heard the raspy, groaning roar of the demon that blocked their path.

Of course, Rhoane was ready, casting a frosted bolt of power forward to engulf the demon and freeze it in place. Sliding the spyglass into her belt, Jaya reached over her shoulders and grabbed the dagger and axe that she had strapped there, darting around her sister to slam both hilts of her weapons into the icy form so that it shattered into a hundred thousand pieces across the mountainside.

But the demon’s shrieking death cry attracted more of its own to it. Hawke looked up to see four more creatures oozing up the pathway toward them, one a tower of molten orange-yellow fire, two of them misshapen masses of purple-brown flesh with almost human faces staring up at them, and one a vaporous mist that kept a distance from them for the moment.

Hawke ignored the vapor and the lava demons, concentrating instead on the more fleshy ones. Even though the molten substance of the one creature did give it a physical form that was vulnerable to her blades, the heat that the demon gave off — to say nothing of the plumes of fire that it could project from its maw — made it a more dangerous opponent. She would trust Rhoane to at least disable that one before she tried to take it out.

Dropping into a crouch to one side of her first opponent, Hawke waited until the moment that it drew back one of its elongated, bone-thin arms to swipe at her. As the demon’s clawed hand came down, she leaped, driving her axe into the side of its neck while her long knife slipped into the socket of the one eye that glared at her. Sinking the toe of one boot into the greasy rags that cloaked the body, she levered herself up onto the demon’s back, preparing for her next strike. Black ichor oozed down the creature’s neck when she tugged the axe away, and she swung again, decapitating the creature. She pushed away from the corpse, jumping backward before she could be trapped beneath its bulk.

She felt the rush of moving air across her cheek and saw the passing swipe of the claws on the other demon. Because her focus had been on the first one, she hadn’t even noticed when it had moved behind her. Pivoting and contorting her body, she managed to avoid the swing of the creature’s other arm, but her foot landed in a patch of loosened stone and slipped from under her. Hawke landed on her bottom and started scrambling across the ground, moving away from the demon as quickly as she could. Leaning over, the creature thrust its face toward her, and she raised her knife to protect herself.

Suddenly, an arrow sank into the eye socket of the demon, and it pulled away from her, its head rising to look up into the swirling green of the tear in the sky. Its throat stretched for a moment and then the blade of Fenris’s halberd gouged deeply through the purple-brown flesh, neatly tearing the throat from the shoulder. The demon fell to the ground, and Hawke looked up to meet the lyrium-branded elf’s eyes, wryly smiling her thanks to her. When he extended his hand to her, Jaya let him help her to her feet.

Turning back the way that she had come, she saw that the molten demon had disintegrated into a glowing puddle that was quickly being absorbed back into the earth. Hawke was about to let herself relax when she remembered the vaporous demon that had lingered at a distance. She turned in a quick circle, scanning the scattering of rocks, trying to locate the demon before it could attack.

It was the blast of energy that it send toward Rhoane that attracted her attention. She saw the beam that shot from the creature’s claws and the moment when it struck the Hero of Ferelden in the center of her back. Gasping, her sister straightened and pulled her shoulder blades together from the impact of the magical bolt and then fell to her knees on the rocky slope. Hawke drew back her arm to fling her knife at the demon, but she heard the twang of a bowstring first and a firm little voice.

“No!”

She caught the image of the arrow in its brief flight and wondered at the brilliant, yellow glow that surrounded it. When the sharpened head pierced into the vapor that made up the demon, it exploded in a burst of light that shimmered through every particle of the mist, illuminating it from the inside and sending even smaller pieces scattering in all directions. Hawke watched the creature’s last, glowing seconds, blinking rapidly to try to erase the image from her vision. Without thinking about it, she turned in the direction where the arrow had taken flight and saw Abelas with Leandra strapped to his chest. She saw that the little girl had managed to turn slightly so that she was facing more forward and had pressed the fabric down so that both of her arms were free. Leandra seemed to shimmer in her vision, but she wasn’t certain whether it was what she was actually seeing or if it was the afterimage from the explosion of the demon. When Abelas pushed past her, her view of her niece was blocked, and she had to wonder whether she had imagined what she had seen or not.

“Ma vhenan,” she heard Abelas say anxiously to her sister. “Are you well?”

“Yes, yes,” Rhoane said briskly, climbing back to her feet. “Of course I am. I was shielded, so most of the impact was absorbed by my own magic. How are you?”

Leandra reached out and wrapped her little arms around Rhoane’s neck when her mother leaned forward. Her sister pressed her palm to the top of her daughter’s head and kissed her husband on the cheek.

“We need to go,” Fenris said sternly, starting down the side of the hill. Hawke hurried after him, tightening her grip on her blades while she trotted toward where they had hidden the one horse they had been able to buy when they got to Ferelden. The old nag was pulling wildly at the reins that they had securely looped into a low branch of a tree, so she slipped her blades back into their holders and cautiously approached the nervous horse. It took her a few minutes, but she finally managed to get the animal calmed down enough that she could start leading it down the pathway on the hill.

“Where can we go?” she asked Rhoane, knowing that the Hero of Ferelden had a better idea of the terrain in the area than the others did. “Is there a cave or somewhere that we can defend if we end up with more …”

They were following the path between two boulders when Hawke heard the groaning scream of a demon in front of them. She saw Fenris speed out into the open space, but the unearthly noise had disturbed the horse so much that she was forced to get it back under control. Abelas clambered up the side of the rocks around her, positioning himself on top with a clear view so that he could use his bow most effectively. The horse shifted in the confined space, pressing her against the stone side of the passage. She saw her sister slip past in that moment and cursed herself for having picked up the horse’s lead rein. When she finally managed to calm it and was able to walk into the more open area, she found Fenris and her sister facing a Qunari female who was crouched above the corpse of another purple-brown demon. The lyrium-branded elf had his halberd leveled at the woman, who was snarling at him with a long sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

“No, wait,” Rhoane was saying. “Fenris! Please!”

“Where is he?” the Qunari growled at her sister. “What have you done with him?”

“I don’t know. I can’t help you unless you tell me where you think he was.”

“There!” The horns that curled on top of her head nodded in the direction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. “He was there. With them. In the place that was supposed to be for safety and peace. And I …” She stopped, scrubbing the back of one of her hands across her cheek, trying to erase the evidence of her tears. “I let him go alone. He … he wouldn’t let me come with him. He said we would attract too much attention for the wrong reasons. That we couldn’t draw their focus away from what they were trying to do here. I shouldn’t have … I should have …”

“It’s okay,” Rhoane said, taking a few tentative steps toward the Qunari. “I think that you said that his name was Kaaras, right? Can you tell me who you are? Can you let me help you?”

“I’m Hissera. But I need to find him.”


	11. Part Two • Chapter Five • Kaaras

Opening and closing his hand around the strange, green mark that seemed like a reflection of the swirling wrongness in the sky, he moved through the people who had gathered in the little village of Haven. He wanted to reach the main gate, to finally escape all of these strangers who looked at him as if he were something special.

All because he had ended up with the glowing, green mark on his hand.

They kept finding him in those moments when all he really wanted was to be alone, trying to explain to him why he was important to their cause and the role that he was destined to play. He listened, hoping that his face looked more polite than he actually felt, and he kept his replies as short as he possibly could. As much as they all seemed to want to share their thoughts with him, he wanted to keep his to himself.

Because what he thought most often was that every single one of them was insane.

He had been in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, he remembered that, listening to another speech by one of the sides in the conflict. Honestly, he couldn’t recall whether it had been a mage or a templar. But he did remember the shaking around him and the thundering sound of the explosion.

And then he had awoken in a cell. With a searing pain in his hand and a set of manacles around his wrists.

At first, he hadn’t understood why he was their prisoner, but then again, he didn’t remember much either. A few moments before, but nothing after. At all. The black-haired Seeker had tried to explain the events to him, but it had been more important for him to see the terrible rip in the sky and the rain of demons for himself. And then she had taken him to the Temple.

It was a ruin. What was left of the stone walls were blackened from the fire of the blast, and he had felt physically ill at the sight of the charred corpses, many of which seemed to be frozen in place, like a memorial for the last hopes of the Chantry. He had walked slowly among the bodies, trying to recall a face from the crowd that might have been this corpse or that one. It seemed important — that he take their faces with him as a reminder of his inexplicable luck in surviving.

One among thousands. The sole survivor.

Pushing past the soldiers who were drilling in the open space in front of the gates of the little village, he turned toward the snow-blanketed forest, determined to find a good location where the few remaining craftsmen could find wood or metals. The black-haired Seeker said that they needed materials so that they could prepare their army.

At least she seemed to have some idea of what might be coming. Her and her red-haired friend who always seemed to know more than she ever told them about in her brief reports. He felt lost, alone for the first time in his entire life, pinned into the center of a vortex that would overwhelm him if he let it.

Because they all seemed to expect so much from him.

For some reason, they had fixated on this idea that he was a messenger from their Maker, chosen by his Prophet, Andraste, to share their god’s will with the whole of Thedas. The men whose feet he had basically collapsed at had said that he had stepped through a portal from the Fade, and that their prophetess was seen behind him, sending him from the realm of spirits and back into the real world. But he doubted it. There was no reason why this Maker or his Bride and Prophet should chose him: he wasn’t at all familiar with their faith, and he didn’t believe in much more than his own magic and his ability to control it.

And his sister. Which was why he had insisted on scouting the area for materials in the first place.

He hadn’t seen Hissera since the morning before the explosion at the conclave, and it hadn’t been a friendly parting either. As much as he had argued that she should stay hidden in the mountains around the Temple of Sacred Ashes, she had responded equally as firmly that she needed to be there to protect him. When he had ordered her to remain at their camp, she had stomped away through the snow, and he had taken that as his signal to make his escape to the Temple as quickly as he could.

Kaaras was glad that he had insisted, but he also knew that it didn’t mean she had survived. While he had spent his days recovering from the sickness that the mark created in him, she could have left to rejoin the Valo-Kas and report his failure to Shokrakar. It was what he would have done — probably — when the only logical conclusion was that he had died in the explosion. Or she could have been overwhelmed by the demons that had fallen from the sky. He wasn’t certain that she’d ever battled a demon before — his mercenary work usually involved humanoids and most of his experience with spirits had come in the last few days. Or their camp could have been swallowed when the earth split. Or she could have been discovered by templars or mages or …

He tripped and reached out to grasp a low-hanging branch of one of the pine trees that surrounded him to prevent himself from falling. As much as he wanted to blame his stumble on the rough terrain, Kaaras knew that it was something more. Ever since he had finally awoken in the cell, he had listened and acted to keep himself alive. There hadn’t been a moment for him to think about the loss of all those people or his sister, and he never could have anticipated the pain that it would cause. Filling his lungs as much as he possibly could, he tightened his grip on his staff and tried to push the ache in his soul away.

Looking around at the little collection of trees, he realized that this was the kind of wood that the Quartermaster had sent him out to find. Noting the direction and distance, he thrust one of the markers that he carried into the ground, claiming the logging site for the black-haired Seeker, her little army, and her burgeoning Inquisition.

There, he thought. That should hold them for a while at least. Turning to study the terrain, he tried to determine where the tallest rocks lining the basin that cradled the village of Haven were and started toward them. With luck, he could finish the task that they had released him to perform and then he would have plenty of time to search for signs that his sister still lived.

Stepping forward through the snow, he stamped his feet in the next bare patch that he encountered in order to stimulate some feeling in his toes. When it actually made them ache, he groaned softly, and he almost wished that they were feeling numb again. The same way that he wished that his heart could be numb again.

But no, he told himself, it was never better to not feel. He had to let the emotions run their course and then analyze why he felt the way that it did. It was the only tool that he could use to keep the demons at bay and still be able to wield his magic.

But the pain. Even though he could understand why he felt it, he wondered whether it would ever run its course. Could he stop regretting the loss of those thousands of lives? Would time or analysis take away the ache of not having his sister at his side at all times, as she had been in the past? How would he understand it this time?

He managed to reach the rocks that he had seen from the stand of trees, and he bent to examine the stone face. The Quartermaster had told him what to look for, but he had never searched for ore veins in his life. It might be wiser to sample the rock and then …

“Lumbering,” a voice above him said. “I think that’s what they call it. It certainly applies to how you walk through the snow.”

He stood up so quickly at the sound that his head began to spin. When he looked toward the sky, all Kaaras could see was a shadow on top of the rocky outcrop, a tall form dressed in armor.

And the two curling horns on her head.

Gasping, he sank to the ground next to the stone, and the pain released its stranglehold on his heart. “Hissera,” he whispered. “You’re alive.”

She laughed at him, but just then, he didn’t mind at all. He heard her land beside him, and — not trusting that it could be true — he looked over at the boots that were upright beside him. Yes, he had to admit, they were hers: he knew, because he had purchased them for her from the proceeds of one of his assignments. He never would have bought a pair like it for himself. They were hand-tooled Antivan leather that had imprinted with a pattern of spirals and other geometric shapes. She had seen them in the collection of a merchant that they were escorting through Nevarra, and he had known that they were meant for her. When he had handed them to her, she had gasped and raced to their tent. Her grateful hug had come much later.

“I would say the same about you, Kaaras,” Hissera said teasingly, “but I’ve known for days. We managed to get some information out of a merchant who had made it into the village, so I wasn’t at all worried any more. You can’t know how happy I am that you finally have broken away from them. If I hadn’t seen you soon, I think we would have had to come up with some kind of rescue plan. And that would have been so very dangerous for everyone involved.”

While his sister rattled on — he hadn’t known that he could miss the sound of her voice so much — he managed to rise to her feet. But he was confused. She had said “we,” but who did she mean? He looked around and saw the mage that they had met in the overgrown orchard forest in the Plains of Ghislain. A baby girl stared at him from her hip, her little hand opening and closing as if she were waving at him. Behind her, a red-headed elf held a bow in one hand, and he could see the hilt of a sword sticking up behind his shoulder.

“The mage from the forest,” he said, nodding to her.

“The Qunari mage from the forest,” she replied, smiling gently at him. “I’m pleased to see you again.”

“Yes,” Hissera continued, her stream of chatter never breaking or stopping. “This is Rhoane and Abelas and Leandra. They found me after the explosion, and they’ve been helping me find out more about what was going on. They’re the only reason that I haven’t broken into that silly fortress that they’ve been building up around Haven. Have you seen all the breaks in the walls? I mean, the fortification that they’re trying to put up couldn’t keep a rat out, let alone an experienced warrior like me. You really ought to talk to them, but then again, there’s no reason for you to go back. So we should get going, back to the Valo-Kas, and just chalk this whole thing up to …”

“I can’t.”

Hissera finally stopped talking and stared at him. He lifted his eyes to meet hers and sighed inwardly. After the emotional ups and downs of the last minutes, he wasn’t sure that he had enough strength to argue with her about leaving Haven. But maybe there was a way to stop her before she started.

“I need you to come back with me,” he said.

“No,” she snapped and then seemed to think better of it. “Why?”

“Too much talking,” Kaaras admitted to her. She would understand, of course, because she had spent her life communicating for him. It was the image that his parents had burned into his mind — of Qunari mages with their lips stitched closed — that had first caused him to turn to Hissera to speak for him. For his own safety, he spoke as little as possible in front of anyone except her.

“No, no,” she repeated. “We don’t belong here. There’s nothing for Qunari Vashoth here.”

He sighed deeply and extended his hand toward her, uncurling his fingers so that she could see the seething green glow on the palm of his left hand. She gasped and took a step away from him, and he could see the fear that settled on her face.

A squeal attracted his attention, and he looked up to see the little girl leaning forward in her mother’s arms. Unfortunately, the mage seemed equally as curious as her daughter, and she walked toward him until she was close enough to examine the details of the glow in his palm. She studied it for a few moments and then looked up at him.

“Does it pain you? Are you suffering?”

He was about to answer when he heard the little girl speak. Her voice was strong and loud enough that it bounced for a moment off the rocks around them.

“No,” she said as if rebuking the mark. “No, no!”

Her mother laughed and looked up at him. “It’s her only word right now. I’m so sorry.”

Shaking his head, he extended his other hand toward the baby and was surprised when she reached out toward him. When he looked at the woman, she merely shrugged her shoulders and let him take her little girl up against his chest. He tried to draw back when she placed one of her hands against his cheek, but he stopped when she thrust her lower lip out and folded her hands against her stomach. Using the tip of a finger on his marked hand, he tilted her chin up and smiled at her. In response, she giggled and extended her arms toward something above him. Curious, he tilted his head and felt her pat her hands against his horns, an excited babble streaming from her mouth the entire time.

Hissera laughed again. “She did the same thing to me when I first met her. Her mother says that she’s never seen a Qunari before.”

“Of course,” the woman admitted, “I had never seen a Qunari with horns before I met you and your sister, either. I think Leandra and I were equally fascinated.”

“Leandra,” he said, turning his head to look at the girl when he felt her hands loosen their grip on his horns. She smiled up at him and leaned forward to press a sloppy, baby kiss against his chin.

“I understand why you can’t leave,” the woman said to him, taking the girl from him and settling her on her hip again. “You’re bound to the tear in the sky, aren’t you?”

He nodded, grateful that he didn’t need to explain it to her — all the reasons why the Valo-Kas and mercenary work and the random pathways of his former vagabond life were now closed to him. Studying the mage’s face, he realized that there was something that she wasn’t telling him, that she had a depth of understanding of his position that she hadn’t shared with him and that he might never fully comprehend. He suddenly wished that he knew who she was and that she could come with him back to Haven.

“You should return,” she said with a gentle finality. “If you linger, they’ll send someone to look for you.”

He looked over at Hissera and saw that she was frowning at him.

“Oh, all right,” she said, surrendering suddenly. “I’ll come with you. But I think you owe me another pair of Antivan leather boots for this.”


	12. Part Two • Chapter Six • Jaya Hawke

Jaya watched the clouds with a little frown on her face, waiting for them to cover the moon again. Everything about her timing seemed off tonight, and she was certain that she had alerted that guard on watch on the corner of the fortifications for Haven. She leaned back into the shadow of the tall rock that was only a stone’s throw from the reinforced wall and waited for the darkening of the cover around her. Another moment or two and she would be able to slip into the shadows beside the wall, with none of the lookouts and guards being any wiser.

Twisting her shoulders against the frosty chill of the stone behind her, she tried to keep her breathing even so that her misty exhalations wouldn’t give her away. She could feel herself relax just a bit more when the clouds moved to cover the white face of the moon, but nothing seemed to be able to eliminate the roiling green of the tear in the sky. It occupied a space that seemed to be uniquely its own — somewhere between the landscape of Thedas and the unknowable. She glanced up at its continual swirl, noticing that there were fewer streaks of lightning traveling from edge to edge through its acidic glare. Somehow, that Qunari mage had managed to keep the rip from spreading any farther, and she was a little relieved that they all weren’t about to be swallowed by whatever was behind the chaotic swirl of energy.

Not yet at least. Who could know what the morrow would bring?

Hawke heard Varric before she saw him, but that was because he was distracting the guards, calling genially to them and joking with them about the cold. He capped his efforts by handing a full bottle of wine up into the waiting hand of a pikeman, and she saw the soldier immediately step away from the edge of the wall to share a drink with his fellows. Varric told them to keep warm and wandered toward where she was waiting against the rock.

“Do you have to bribe them every time, Varric?” she asked sourly. “They’re supposed to be keeping you safe.”

“Hawke! No know very well that I can take care of myself,” the dwarf replied, thrusting another bottle toward her. “It’s those boys back there that need someone to watch out for them. Besides, they’ll remember that I handed them a bottle on a cold night when worst comes to worst. Which it will. Fairly soon.”

Jaya sighed again and looked back up at the night sky. “How soon? Isn’t anything that you’re doing helping?”

“It is,” he replied. “Kaaras has managed to stop the Breach from growing, and we’ve closed more than a dozen minor openings throughout the countryside. We’ve gathered more people to the Inquisition — some fighters, but mostly craftsmen and hangers-on, but at least they’re safely with us. We’re trying to make connections with the mages, who we’ve heard are gathering in Redcliffe.” Varric took the bottle from her unresisting fingers and uncorked it. “This isn’t like what we did in Kirkwall, Hawke. We’re trying to build something here that will benefit the people. All the people — mages and templars and the everyday yeoman who turns to the Chantry for succor when he’s uncertain.” Tipping the bottle, he took a long drink. “And everybody’s uncertain right now.”

“Maker’s breath, Varric, I know that. What I don’t know is how I can help. Why did I leave …” she paused and took the bottle back from the dwarf. After her own swallow, she continued, “What am I supposed to be doing here?”

“If I had my way, you wouldn’t be here,” he said. “You know that they started all of this looking for you, right? You or the Hero of Ferelden. They captured me, because they believed that I would lead them to you.”

“But why?” she asked. “They obviously don’t need either of us.”

Varric shook his head. “They don’t need you now, no. But then — before …” He stopped and waved his hand at the tear in the sky. “They didn’t know about any of this. Before this happened, they had a completely different plan for what was going to happen with their Inquisition. I’m sure that before the Breach, they were just planning to use their power to make the mages and the templars play nice, maybe rearrange a few things so that everybody would feel a little more comfortable with their duties. Pad the cage, you might say.”

“All the gilding in the world doesn’t make a cage any less a cage, Varric,” she said, the sour tone coming into her voice again. She ran her fingers around the opening of the bottle, the tips of her fingers finding the uneven places along the rim. Even through all the years of training and practice, the crafters who made the bottles couldn’t know from one creation to the next where the glass would be smooth and where it would pit. There would always be some tiny uncertainty in the mixture, a little more air applied in one case and not in another. Even the finest, most highly skilled crafters couldn’t make their creations come out perfectly every time.

People equalled imperfection. It was an underlying truth of all life.

“Varric,” she said slowly, choosing her words with care, “did you ever think — ever in all those days that we spent in Kirkwall — that maybe Fenris was right? Maybe it would have been easier to do it his way and just kill them all? Every last mage? So that we wouldn’t have to do … this?”

The dwarf took the bottle from her and tilted it toward the green, glowing sky. “It wouldn’t help, Hawke. You can’t stop people from having magic simply by killing off all the ones who are alive now. There’s something in people that yearns to be able to do the impossible, and magic is a useful tool for that. Not dwarfs, of course. We value a strong brew and a good night’s sleep too much to want to bother with magic.”

Lifting the bottle again, he drained it and then looked down at the container for a few moments. Jaya let the silence settle around them: they had been friends for too long to need to simply talk to feel comfortable with each other. After traveling with Varric, she knew that eventually he would have something to say.

“The thing is,” he started slowly, “I think there’s something here, Hawke. I … I believe in this Inquisitor. I can’t say that I’ve ever met anyone who seems to have such a long vision for the future.” He paused and tossed the bottle into the air, catching it easily in his other hand. “Maybe it’s because he’s so damned tall.”

Hawke choked on her laughter. “He has a plan because he’s tall enough to see it? Is that what you’re trying to tell me, Varric?”

“It’s what I’ve got right now, Hawke,” he admitted softly. “Something that I can do that isn’t for the blood-sucking Merchant’s Guild. Or to keep me on the less-than-deadly side of the Carta. Being where it’s harder for an assassin to get to me makes me very happy.”

“Or too comfortable,” she snorted. Looking around at the walls that were meant to protect Haven, she wondered whether they could actually work. Would they keep out whatever the Inquisition thought was coming for them? Or were they meant to keep the people in, trapped behind the walls, so that they couldn’t find another option for themselves? So that they were slaves to the Inquisition, its beliefs, and its plan for the future?

“So you can have a secluded little village in the Hunterhorn Mountains to keep you warm and dry,” Varric teased, “but I’m not allowed a wall to keep my tent secure? That seems a little selfish, Hawke.”

“You know I don’t play well with others. Or others don’t like to play the way that I do. I’m not sure that I’ve ever figured out which one it really is.”

Varric shifted from foot to foot for a moment and then looked over his shoulder at the fortifications of Haven. “As much as I could spend the rest of the night chatting with you, Hawke, I need to get back. We might even be able to get in a hand of Wicked Grace the next time …”

“I hope so, Varric,” she whispered. “I have a lot of gold to win back from you.”

He laughed and started back toward the main gates into the village, but after only a few steps, he stopped and turned. “There’s something worse out there, Hawke. Everything that we find, at the end of every battle … we find out more about some kind of figurehead that is driving all of this conflict. At some point, he will come for us. Here. In Haven. We’re simply too tempting for him to not.”

Hawke remembered his words to her weeks later when she sat in a notch between two boulders, studying the flat in front of Haven. Abelas had woken them before the sun had risen, saying that he had seen movement in the distance. Quickly and efficiently, they had moved higher up on the mountainside, deep into a craggy cut among the rocks, where they hoped that they would be safe. They had traded off shifts, staring through the spyglass in the direction that Rhoane’s husband had indicated. It was as if they all could sense the danger, because they rarely strayed farther away than a few paces from each other, until the last hour when her companions had slipped up the little canyon to feed themselves and check on the pack horse. She had asked them to bring her something back, which left her alone with the shifting black masses in the distance and her thoughts.

And the swirling mass of green in the sky above her. That never went away.

She settled the spyglass against her eye, trying to focus it on the shifting mass cresting the hills in the distance. It was the glint of the sunlight that gave them away, exposed to anyone who was paying attention that they were an army of templars, moving across the foothills in front of Haven in well-ordered ranks like the trained soldiers that they were. In the last hour, she had been able to finally pick out the commanders among the shields and standards. It was a vanity that leaders rarely eschewed: the purely ornamental touches that separated the generals from their foot soldiers. If she were an archer, she would use those feathered crests to take out the commanders first, but then again, they would have to get close enough to her position — or to the fortifications of Haven — for anyone to have a shot at them. And those leading the armies never moved near the real danger of battle.

She heard a quiet step on the loose gravel behind her and dropped the spyglass so that she could look over her shoulder to see Fenris creeping toward her. Sliding down from her perch between the rocks, she traded Isabela’s gift for the cup of stew and spoon that he extended toward her. After he had taken her place, she slipped up beside him, sitting down on the ground and leaning her head against his thigh.

“Any changes?” he whispered, lifting the spyglass to his eye.

“No,” she muttered around the spoonful of stew that she had slipped into her mouth. “They just keep coming up that pass, rank after rank. Unless some kind of reinforcements come to their rescue, the village of Haven is doomed.”

“There’s no retreat? No way for them to escape?”

“Rhoane says not, but then again, she only spent a few days in the village and the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She’s not that familiar with the mountains around here, so she doesn’t know of any options.”

“And you haven’t talked to Varric, so …”

“So I have no idea what they’re planning. Or if they even have a plan. All we can do is wait.”

Swirling the cup in a little circle, she watched the vegetables and broth as they spun together, reminding her of the maelstrom that still roiled in the sky. She closed her eyes to block out the sight and let herself relax against the lyrium-branded elf’s leg. The simple contact allowed her to relax, to let the weariness that she had been living with consume her for a few brief moments. Because she knew that she would need to act and probably before she could say that she was ready.

It wasn’t that they had been idle in the weeks leading up to what was looking more and more like a full-scale invasion of the village of Haven. She and Fenris had traveled out into the wilderness, trying to guide or coerce as many templars and mages as they could into giving up their fight and joining the Inquisition, but they always returned to their hideout in the hills above Haven. Sometimes Ableas and Rhoane would take their places, and occasionally they would spend a few nights together, reviewing their progress or trying to analyze the position that the tiny army would find itself in when the invaders finally attacked. Every moment that they were together — and even more when they were apart — was filled with tension, waiting for that moment that Varric had said was coming, but that no one could specifically identify.

Well, it had finally arrived. And still they weren’t ready.

“I had not thought there could be so many templars in the southern kingdoms,” Ferris was saying behind her.

“They’ve probably picked up a number of irregular foot,” she said, opening her eyes to spoon another bit of stew into her mouth. “People who have had bad experiences with the mages or who hate the idea of magic. Maker’s breath, Fenris, in another day, I could have imagined you in their ranks.”

The white-haired elf snorted, shifting suddenly so that her head fell off his leg toward the ground. Jaya squeaked and managed to catch herself before the back of her skull could strike the rocks, spilling a few droplets of stew on her leathers. Turning, she looked up at her lover, who returned her gaze with one of feigned innocence and then turned back to study the valley with the spyglass. She was scraping the last bits of stew from her cup when Abelas and Rhoane approached them, emerging from their sheltered crevasse, the red-haired elf carrying his daughter in his arms while she slept soundly. Hawke was about to rise and give her sister her place when she saw the Warden Commander freeze in place, her eyes locked to the sky above Fenris’s head.

“What? What is it?” Jaya sprang to her feet and crossed to where her sister was standing, studying the angry, green-grey swirl that scarred and poisoned what had been a perfect, clear blue.

“We may have been focused too much in one place,” Rhoane said slowly. “Turn your glass to the skies, Fenris, and tell me what you see.”

The elf did as she asked, and silence settled around them. When a dark stream of cursing — mostly in the language of the Fog Warriors — started, she could feel her stomach tie itself into a tangle. She wanted to ask what he saw, what had made Rhoane freeze in place, but her tongue seemed to be in as many knots as her belly.

“I assume that I was right in what I saw,” the Hero of Ferelden said. “I couldn’t be certain, because it was so fast …”

“A dragon,” Fenris spat out angrily, slipping down from the rocks to join the rest of their party. “It’s twisted and black. Unnatural.”

“Like the Archdemon.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Jaya complained. “You ended the Blight. You killed the embodiment of the Old God, so I don’t understand how the darkspawn could have found another one so quickly.” Snatching the spy glass from Fenris’s hand, Hawke climbed back between the rocks and studied the skies until she was able to locate the soaring figure of the dragon. It was unnatural, its bones protruding and covered with skin that was purplish brown, like a new bruise. The creature circled the valley in front of Haven, sending great gouts of black flame into the sky. 

She swept the fields of ice and snow, noticing that the defenders of the little village had engaged with the leading line of invaders. The field of unending white was muddy brown tinged with red now where booted feet had stamped the glistening snowfall beneath them and sharply honed blades or bolts of magic had torn open their intended victims. Haven had managed to construct a few powerful trebuchets, and the defenders were hurling rock and refuse toward the advancing lines, sending up sprays of humanity and earth in equal proportions. When she scanned the lines of commanders, she could see them ordering their troops forward, driving the men and women of their forces into the fray, urging them and challenging them in words that she could only imagine from her position on the rocks. Her stomach clenched at the carnage, and she had to force down the bile that tried to overwhelm her throat.

Hawke was about to lower the glass and scoot down to where her family was waiting when a movement at the back of the mass of soldiers caught her attention. When she first saw the form towering over the ranks — even taller than many of the mounted generals at the back of the army — she was afraid that it was one of the ogres that she had encountered in the Deep Roads, that they had been wrong and the darkspawn were part of the battle for some reason. Breathing deeply, she steadied the spyglass and waited patiently for the form to clarify in her vision. When she could finally see the tall entity, she gasped in shock and felt her body start to tremble.

“Corypheus,” she whispered, her voice strangling around the syllables.

“What was that, Hawke?” Fenris asked her, moving up the rocks to her side.

Silently, she handed the spyglass to him and scooted to one side so that he would have space to settle in beside her. He examined the distant figure, and the air was filled with another stream of curses, all sounding more violent than the last ones. When the white-haired elf finally dropped the spyglass from his eyes, Jaya could see that his face was even more pale than usual.

“He’s dead.” Fenris said, and to Hawke, his words sounded just as intense in their denial as hers had. “We killed him on top of his prison.”

“You know the person who’s behind this attack?” Rhoane asked, stepping closer to them.

“The person?” Jaya said, the realization that she had failed to eliminate the thing that threatened them all now coloring her words with bitterness. “That … thing … may have been a person once in the ancient history of Thedas. But Corypheus claims that he is one of the Tevinter magisters that crossed into the Fade and corrupted the Golden City.”

She was horrified by the look that crossed her sister’s face: a combination of curiosity and wonder that made her gut clench and clench again. Rhoane couldn’t understand what they had gone through to destroy the magister the first time or the threat that he had represented to everyone near the Grey Warden’s prison in the Vimmark Mountains near Kirkwall. But she would understand one of the aspects of what the Wardens had done to keep Corypheus bound. She would understand better than anyone.

“They used our father,” Hawke snapped at her, unable to control her anger at her failure and her fear of what the resurrected magister might be able to do. “The Grey Wardens forced him to use his own blood to reinforce the wards that had been created to hold that corrupted magister in place. They were going to kill our mother. That’s what they did to get him to spill his own blood to increase the security of their prison.”

“By the Maker, no!” Rhoane gasped.

“And as much as they coerced him into it,” she concluded bitterly, “it didn’t work. Corypheus managed to use his magic to twist the minds of the dwarves in the area, and he sent them after us. After the children of Malcolm Hawke’s blood. Me and Bethany. If they’d known about you, they would have searched for you, too, Rhoane.”

She could see her sister’s face change and then the Hero of Ferelden was struggling to maintain her balance. The earth shuddered around them, and she turned quickly to see an avalanche pouring down into the valley that the army was using to reach the village of Haven. From their position — they were far enough away that they were safe — she could hear the screams of men and horses as they were buried in the tons of rock and snow that rocketed down from the slopes of the mountain. She turned to Fenris, who had the spyglass trained on the battlefield.

“That was a very strategic use of the trebuchet,” he muttered. “The Inquisition is withdrawing behind their main walls, so …”

The dragon’s scream echoed across the valley, and she could see the creature soaring toward the far end of the rubble of the avalanche. When the beast rose from the ground again she could see fabric fluttering between its claws, and she knew somehow that Corypheus had survived. And that the dragon and the magister were somehow connected.

“We need to go,” she said urgently. “I need to stay with the Inquisition. If I failed to eliminate Corypheus, then I helped create this problem.”

She glanced over at her sister, who looked back at her for a long moment, a worried frown creasing her face. Finally, she nodded and said, “All right. We’ll go try to locate Bethany and Stroud. It will be easier for you to find us with them, and you can travel faster if it’s just you and Fenris following the Inquisition.”

Hawke stepped over to the Hero of Ferelden and pulled her into a tight hug. “Take care then,” she whispered. She could feel her stomach clench again, as if it was trying to tell her that this was the last time she would see her sister, but she ignored it. Releasing the embrace, she started toward the pack horse so that she could retrieve their gear.


	13. Part Two • Chapter Seven • Hissera

It was chaos. All around her and her brother. She wasn’t certain that she had taken in a deep breath since the moment that they had been alerted to the approaching army. They had met the invaders in the verge in front of the fortifications of Haven, her sword flashing in the acidic light from the swirling sky and Kaaras’s staff sending out blasts of power. At times, she was aware of the other defenders of the Inquisition around her: Cassandra, the black-haired Seeker; Varric, the garrulous rogue; Cullen, the former templar who now commanded their troops; The Iron Bull, another Qunari with his own squad of skilled mercenaries; the aloof and mysterious Leliana, who was the spymaster for the Inquisition and who kept her secrets very much to herself. There were others, of course, even others who had managed to get close to her brother and influence him enough that he had felt obligated to do tasks for them. But they were all flashes in the battle, mere moments of awareness that were enough to drive her in a different direction, knowing that many of the people who now surrounded her brother were warriors in their own rights.

Many of them were, but many others were not. Cassandra and Cullen had ordered those who could not fight to take shelter in the big Chantry building — the church dedicated to the humans’ prophetess, Andraste, and her Chant of Light. It was a defensible position, but Hissera also knew that it was a trap. If they couldn’t repel the invaders here or on the pathways of the village of Haven, the Chantry could be battered into collapse or set ablaze. They had to do something to turn the tide of this battle or die trying.

“Kaaras!” she shouted, using a small break in the battle to scan the field around her. “Why aren’t the trebuchets firing?”

Slamming the butt end of his staff into the ground, her brother lifted his head and glanced toward the towering machines. He looked around for a moment and then started running toward the closest trebuchet. Without thinking, she followed, slamming her shield onto the back of an enemy soldier who stepped between her and her brother, drawing on the string of his bow while the tall Qunari mage rushed away. One vicious slash of her sword, and the archer fell to the ground, the dirt beneath him turning deep brown as his blood soaked into the earth. She felt a moment’s twinge of regret — no one deserved to die in this messy war of mages versus templars.

Not that they now believed that the conflict was that limited: there was something else going on beneath the surface, like sudden deep places under the calm black of marsh waters. It angered her to know that these fools were being used to achieve someone else’s goals, but until she knew exactly whose goals and what they were, there was nothing she could do about it.

Except protect her brother.

She watched him activate the first trebuchet and followed the pathway of the rock through the air. He spoke with the soldiers manning the machine for a moment and then turned to race toward the northern corner of Haven’s fortifications.

“What’s going on, Kaaras?” she shouted, racing to his side. “Why hadn’t they fired before you arrived? Didn’t they have it loaded?”

“It jammed,” he said briefly, slashing his staff through the air and sending a bolt of freezing air toward an approaching templar.

“Honestly? Did you not test them before now? Didn’t the engineers promise that they would function?”

He skidded to a halt, and she stopped to look over her shoulder at him. “Hissera,” he scolded her, “you were in the meetings as much as I was. You know what the engineers said was possible and what was not. They have achieved everything that they could without knowing when their machines would be needed.”

Hanging her head, she studied the splattered drops of someone’s blood at her feet. “I apologize,” she said.

Reaching out, he grasped her shoulder with the hand that wasn’t holding his staff. “We couldn’t choose the moment. Help me make the best of what we’ve got.”

Nodding, Hissera rushed with him toward the trebuchet in the corner of their fortifications. As with the first machine they had visited, the soldiers were protecting the engineers trying to get the thrower to operate. She raced past Kaaras, throwing herself into the fray, working her way toward the senior engineer who was struggling with the pieces of the machine. Using her sword and shield with deadly care, she advanced toward the wall that surrounded Haven, eliminating the templars that she could on her way. Clambering up the timbers of the trebuchet, she studied the advancing army, noting the creeping shadows of even more combatants moving into the valley. She could feel her heart sink toward her toes, and she anxiously searched the horizon, trying to find even one shred of hope that she could offer to Kaaras.

“Hissera?” he called up to her.

Slipping down from her perch, Hissera said, “They’re endless. They just keep coming over the crest of that hill.”

Kaaras stepped onto the platform of the trebuchet beside her and then up onto one of the cross-supports so that he could see out into the valley. Turning away from the battlefield, she watched for attackers approaching their position near the wall and waited for her brother’s assessment of their position.

“We need a new plan,” she said softly so that only he could hear her. “All that army had to do is get into the valley. They can spread across the open space all they want, because we’re here behind these walls. They could settle in to try to starve us out, but with their numbers, they’ll probably simply fall against our fortifications until they collapse and allow them into the village. Then it’s just a matter of battering down the doors of the Chantry, and the Inquisition dies on the doorstep of where the Divine and her Conclave were destroyed.”

“We need a new plan,” Kaaras repeated, studying the shadows of the army, there in the shade cast by the glow from the green swirl of the Breach. “Can you aim this thing?”

She laughed. “You sit in meetings; I wander around and talk to people. You’d be surprised the things that I’ve learned to do while you’ve been locked in your war room.”

Her brother lifted his staff and pointed toward the distant soldiers, then moved it slightly away from the roiling mass. Hissera followed the line of the long shaft of his weapon, understanding dawning. Nodding, she walked to the controls and adjusted the angle of the trebuchet.

“For the Inquisition!” Kaaras yelled, releasing the latch that held the tightly wound mechanism in place. Hissera held her breath as the boulder sailed away from them, landing only slightly off from the point where she was aiming. The sound of the rock striking the ground echoed through the valley for a long moment, dissipating slowly until the noise was replaced by the grinding rumble of the avalanche that spilled across the roadway that the army was using as its approach to Haven. When the sound of screams started to reach her ears, she turned away from the wall and started walking toward the Chantry.

“I’m sorry,” Kaaras whispered, falling in beside her. “You said we needed a new plan.”

“It was us or them,” she said flatly. “I know that. We have a moment to breathe now, and maybe we can make a plan that will give us a chance to survive.”

They sprinted back toward the main gates and found Cullen dropping the bar in place, finalizing their commitment to defending Haven. Moving toward the Chantry, they gathered the remaining defenders, making certain that they had everyone left in the village. They needed to meet, to evaluate their options and to make the final choices for their community here. Walking beside her brother, she reached out to touch his hand where it was gripped around his staff. When he looked over at her, she stopped moving, as did he, and she waited until the crowd had passed around them.

“Whatever you decide, I am with you, Kaaras,” she said solemnly. “I don’t give two snaps for this Inquisition, but I understand why you’re here. And I refuse to abandon you to these humans and their power games. You won’t be alone.”

He studied her face for a few moments. “Whatever I decide?” he asked in a soft voice.

Hissera frowned but nodded her agreement. “If you trick me into something, you’re going to regret it.”

Kaaras grinned and started toward the Chantry. “Really? How exactly?”

“You ought to stop thinking of me as your helpless little sister, you know,” she growled at him. “I have more than a few tricks up my sleeve. And tucked in my boots.”

He laughed at her. “Considering the most likely outcome for the next few hours is that I’ll end up dead, that may be the only regret that I’ll have to hold on to.”

“And I’ll use it to find you,” she said, “no matter where you are.”

Seeing him nod, Hissera dragged the heavy door of the Chantry open and let her brother pass into the muted despair that hung like a fog above the heads of every person huddled together there. She stayed back beside the door, watching Kaaras move among the little groups until he paused with the leaders of the Inquisition: Cassandra, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana. Finally they moved to where one of the senior members of the Chantry was lying on the floor, and her brother looked over at her. With a small motion of one hand, he requested that she join them, and she made her way between the small groups of weary warriors and frightened hangers-on to his side.

“… there may be a way …” the man from the Chantry hierarchy was saying, agonizing over each word, his body wracked by pain from a wound that he had received. She listened patiently while he described a little-known trail that certain pilgrims to the Temple of Sacred Ashes had used. At odd moments, Kaaras would catch her eye, and she would ask a question or raise a concern. It was the way that their life had been ever since she could talk: she kept him safe by saying the things and asking the questions that would make people nervous coming from a Qunari mage.

When it had been decided, Kaaras pulled her to one side. “Go with them.”

“No,” she said. “You need me.”

He shook his head.

“Kaaras, you’re really going to trust your back to these humans? To these people you just met? Are you insane? They’re only using you and what you can do with your new hand decoration. When they don’t need you for closing their rifts and killing the demons that are released …”

“You said ‘whatever you decide,’ Hissera.”

She stopped talking and simply stared at him. When the words had left her lips earlier, she knew that she would regret them. But she hadn’t realized that it would be so soon. “Damn you, Kaaras,” she muttered.

A roar shuddered through the Chantry, and her brother turned toward the doors. “I have to go. Help them escape, Hissera. Please.”

She groaned and then nodded silently. Kaaras turned and started walking to the door.

“I’ll get you for this. You know I will.”

Her brother turned and smiled gently at her. “I’ll have to survive first. And then you’ll have to catch me.”

Hissera raised her hand in a little gesture of farewell, hoping desperately that this would not be the last moment that she would spend with her brother. Walking to the door, she watched Kaaras and his companions racing toward the walls of Haven. The dragon circled overhead, and when it looped closer to the ground, she knew that it would land. That would be where her brother would go.

She would go in the opposite direction. Running to the place where she had left her pack, she slung the strap over her shoulder and followed the refugees who were escaping the doom of Haven.


	14. Part Three • Chapter One • Bethany Hawke

Bethany lifted her head, looking away from the pot of rabbit stew that she was slowly stirring. The fire crackled softly under the container, the heat from the embers making the liquid bubble, spitting little bursts of gravy over the rim and onto the curved side. Lifting the spoon to her lips, she tasted the broth, sifting through the herbs in the pouch that the other Grey Warden had handed to her before he had walked away to check the perimeter of their little camp. The first one’s partner — another warrior who was sitting not far from her, running a honing stone across the edge of his sword — had seemed equally willing to let her do the cooking once she had joined them. She supposed that they were lucky that Stroud had been teaching her about how some herbs could enhance the flavors of the small game they had been able to trap on their journey along the Storm Coast.

Thinking of her lover made her sigh wistfully. It had been three days since she had seen him and since she had joined these other two Grey Wardens. She had to admit to herself that she missed him, that she slept less soundly when she wasn’t wrapped in his arms, that wandering along the coastline was more of a chore when he wasn’t there to distract her with his droll observations about the landscape or the little gifts that he managed to find on the rocky beaches.

“Missing your bed in the fortress, are we, princess?” the lounging Grey Warden asked, slipping the stone down the length of his sword. “Getting tired of doing your hair all by yourself every day?”

Sprinkling a few leaves from the pouch into the stew, Bethany stirred the gravy again and then rose from her place beside the fire. She reached down and picked up her staff, leaning against it when she turned to look off into the distance, her gaze just above the head of the man beside the fire. “Not missing anything enough to need to spend my spare time caressing a disproportionate reminder of all my shortcomings.”  
His hand stilled, and when she glanced down at his face, she could see the thunderous frown that had settled between his bushy eyebrows. She could hear him spluttering, trying to say something in response, but a deep chuckle covered his efforts. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the other Grey Warden walking toward the fire while he slipped his shield from his arm and leaned it against the fallen log that made up one side of their camp.

“Give it up, Berner,” he said, leaning over the pot of stew and inhaling the aroma. “She has your measure, and she’s never even seen your weapon out of its sheath. Why don’t we all just have our dinner before the sun sets? We can decide watches then, eh?”

“I still need to brew some tea for me to drink,” Bethany said, going to her own pack to find the tin of dried leaves. “Did either of you want some tonight?”

Berner groaned and reached for his own bag. “Maker preserve me, I pray that I have a bottle of something else here. Somewhere.”

The other Grey Warden chuckled again and sat down beside the fire while Bethany filled another pot and sprinkled the tea into it. Setting the container at the edge of the fire, she picked up the metal dishes and filled them with stew, handing one to each of the men. She set her own plate to one side and slipped her sleeve over her hand so that she could pick up the pot of tea and check its temperature.

“Can’t understand how you can drink that swill,” Berner complained around a mouthful of rabbit, his lips smacking together noisily while he chewed. Suppressing a shudder of distaste, Bethany rummaged in her pack until she found a few hard biscuits and handed one to each of the men. Breaking off a piece of her own, she slowly chewed it while the Grey Warden continued complaining about her tea. “Why bother with all this brewing and other fiddly work? You could simply walk up to any dirty puddle out in the hills here, and …”

“And then you’ve got yourself a cup of brown water, right, Berner?” the other Grey Warden agreed, gesturing with his fork. “Did you manage to find a bottle in your pack, my friend? Or should I brave the young lady’s brew?”

Grunting, Berner passed a dark bottle to the other man, who briskly wiped the rim and took a long pull of whatever was sloshing around inside of it. He looked over at Bethany curiously and extended his arm, offering her the chance to join in with them. When she shook her head gently, he shrugged and handed the bottle back to Berner, who tucked it against his leg and continued shoveling stew into his mouth. He finished his first helping and then held his plate out to the mage, tapping the edge against her arm until she took the dish and filled it again.

“At least she knows how to serve,” he said darkly, his words slurring slightly. Bethany looked over at him, studying the droop of his eyelids for a moment before she picked up her tea pot and poured some into her cup. Blowing gently on the liquid, she cradled the container in her hands, letting the heat from her drink seep into her chilled fingers.

Placing his plate on the ground, Berner picked up his bottle again and took another drink, and Bethany saw him looking at her out of the corners of his eyes. She stared down at the golden brown of her tea and breathed across the surface again. Idly swirling the liquid in her cup, she listened as the men started to compare beverages, each one insisting that he had consumed either the sweetest or the sourest of drinks. When the other Grey Warden recounted his adventures slurping ale off the tits of a dwarven whore in Denerim, Bethany stopped listening and reached for the pot to fill her cup again.

“Val Royeaux,” Berner said, yawning hugely. “Sweetest wine, sweetest whores. We should stop on our way …”

Bethany looked over and saw his eyes slide shut while his chin drop toward his chest. Jerking it back upright, Berner lifted his bottle again and took a long pull and then handed it over to his fellow imbiber. When he didn’t reach out to accept the offer, Berner leaned toward him, studying the other Grey Warden’s face in the shadowy mist that surrounded them on the Storm Coast. He fell back into his slovenly lounge and stared into the fire, his eyes opening and closing in a slow, regular rhythm.

Looking over at the other Grey Warden, Bethany realized that he had fallen asleep with his back propped against the log on that side of the fire. A little smile tugged at her lips and lingered there when she turned her head and met Berner’s eyes. His widened in horror.

“Witch!” he whispered hoarsely, dropping his bottle and reaching up to claw at his throat with his ragged fingernails. “Blood magic! You’ve cursed …” While she watched, his eyes fell completely closed and his body sagged down to the earth in an untidy heap.

Bethany jumped to her feet and turned the container of stew over, letting it fall into the fire to be consumed by the flames. Picking up the water pot, she poured it over the embers and looked over at the sleeping men. They may be cold while they slept, but she wasn’t going to take a chance on setting the scrubby grass and bushes around them on fire. Walking over to Berner, she stared down at his sleeping face for a long moment and silently thanked the Maker that she didn’t have to spend another minute in the man’s presence.

“No, you idiot,” she said derisively, “I didn’t use blood magic or curse either of you. Maybe you should think twice the next time before you make the woman do the cooking.” Raising her staff, she brought the butt end down on the bottle on the ground beside Berner, smiling in satisfaction when it shattered and the deep, brown liquid seeped into the dirt at her feet.

Slipping one of the straps of her pack over her shoulder, Bethany scrambled between the large stones and toward the rocky coastline. She followed shore, moving as quickly as she could and trying to keep the lapping wavelets from soaking her boots. The moon was just beginning to rise when she finally found Stroud waiting for her with their horses. When she saw him, she rushed forward and threw herself into his arms, pressing her lips to his and twining herself as close to him as she could.

“Ma moitié,” he whispered against her mouth, “I cannot say how much I have missed you. Thank the Maker that you’re safe.”

Bethany giggled and pressed her lips against his again, reveling in the pleasant tingling that spread through her body. “You’re being very silly, you know,” she teased. “I’m a mage and a Grey Warden, just like you. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Capable is true,” he said, releasing his grip on her and leading her to her horse, “but whether it is truly necessary is still in question. We Grey Wardens protect our own. And I am particularly protective of the Grey Wardens who are mine.”

His words and the intense whisper that he said them in made her shiver, and she realized suddenly how much she had missed him in the last few days. Bethany let him toss her up into the saddle and reined her horse to the east, moving in the opposite direction from the one that the Wardens were traveling. After mounting his own steed, Stroud guided his horse to fall into place beside her, and they moved out along the moonlit beach.

“Have we learned anything new from your little adventure?” he ask when his horse had settled down beside hers. “You’ve been with them for three days, after all. Did you manage to get any new information from them?”

“Some,” she said briefly, taking a deep breath to soothe the jangle that the memory of what she actually had learned caused. Shifting in her saddle, she turned just enough so that she could see his face as it anxiously studied hers. Bethany reached over for the hand that rested against the thigh closest to her and squeezed it tightly.

“They are looking for you.”

“What?” Stroud gasped, startled. “Why would I be of any benefit to them?”

She shrugged, letting her fingers grip his while their horses plodded along the pebble-strewn shore. “You are a powerful warrior and an excellent teacher, Stroud. Whatever they’re doing, it seems that they’re needing more Grey Wardens who are ready to go into battle. You would be a valuable resource to them.”

“For what reason? What is their plan, and who in the Order is commanding it?”

Bethany pulled the loose end of one rein between her fingers. “Berner says that many of the Grey Wardens had heard the Calling. He included himself with that number, but I’m a little confused by his claim.”

The Calling was that moment which came to every Grey Warden, when the taint in their blood became an urgent, undeniable demand to join the darkspawn in their shadowy tunnels. It was confusing to her, not ever having experienced the siren song of the poison in her blood, but she had no reason to doubt the word of her seniors in the order.

Of course, Rhoane had supposedly released all of the Old Gods, and they were all severely reduced in their power. That was another reason why the claims that the Grey Wardens were hearing the Calling confused her. If her had truly ended the destructive effect of drinking darkspawn blood, then why were some of her fellows still claiming to feel the draw of the taint?

“Why would you doubt him, ma moitié? He’s a Grey Warden, and he will feel the Calling at some point in his life.”

“He told me that he has been a member of the Order for only a few months more than I have,” Bethany said slowly, trying to catch his eye. “And I haven’t had any sensation of the Calling. Have you?”

Stroud reined his horse to a stop and studied her face in the moonlight. She saw him shake his head and then he said, “No, I haven’t. And we both know how ancient my membership in the Grey Wardens is.”

Giggling, she leaned closer to him and placed her palm against his cheek. “I’m going to put my faith in your years of experience as opposed to the reports of other Wardens. It’s more valuable to me than all of the other information that we’ve gathered.”

Raising his hand to cover hers, Stroud turned his head and pressed his lips against her palm. Bethany could see the brilliant white of the moonlight reflected in his eyes and the shadowy lines that creased his face. Beloved lines. The lines on the face of the man who had taken her into his life against his better judgement and had made her feel as if there truly was a place in this world that was hers alone — the place in his heart where he had enthroned her and worshipped her as his one and only. She leaned closer to him, wanting to be near him and feel his lips agains hers again.

Unfortunately, her horse decided at that moment that she was tired of standing so close to Stroud’s mount and stepped farther away. Bethany lost her balance and would have fallen to the rocky beach if he hadn’t reached out and pulled her against his chest with one arm. Clinging to him with her reins still tightly tangled in her fingers, she waited for him to let her slide to the ground and remount her own horse. But he surprised her by wrapping both of his arms around her and — by the great strength of his upper body alone — lifting her onto the saddle in front of him. He scooted back to give her space to settle her back against his chest, his arms wrapping around her waist and hold her tightly against him. Letting her head fall back against his shoulder, she closed her eyes and allowed him to take her horse’s lead from her hand so that he could loop it through a ring on his own saddle. He kicked his mount into motion and let hers trail along beside them.

“How ever did you know that my horse was so tired of carrying me?” she wondered, listening for his soft laughter to caress her ear. “You’d think she’d be better rested than that, having only carried our provisions for the last few days.”

“She is a very sensitive soul, that one,” Stroud whispered, his breath warm against her hair. “She has been worried that you were not around and stressed from having to continually be on watch to be certain that we were not found by any of the other Grey Wardens. It was difficult on her, not knowing how close would be too close or whether you were truly safe.”

“You’re telling me that my horse was worried about me? How ever did you cope with her stress and your own? You must have suffered mightily.”

One of Stroud’s hands came up to the curve of her breast through her uniform, and his long fingers gently grazed across the fabric that separated them from her delicate flesh. “The only way that you could understand how I have suffered is if you have felt the same, ma moitié. And have you? Have you suffered mightily being away from me?”

Nodding, she turned her head so that their lips could meet and snaked one of her arms behind her to twine into her lover’s hair at the nape of his neck. When he moaned against her mouth, she could feel a fire race through her body, and she pressed herself into him even more tightly. His hand clenched on her breast, trapping her nipple between two of his fingers so that he could tug gently at it in a mesmerizing rhythm. She sighed when his mouth lifted from hers and wriggled in the saddle, feeling the evidence of how much he had missed her press against her in throbbing need.

“Are we going to spend the entire night in the saddle, Stroud?” she asked in as innocent a voice as she could manage while she also stifled a huge yawn. “I did have a day full of following after those idiots, and then they made me cook for them. Three days in a row, I was the only one cooking.” At that exact moment, her stomach growled. “Oh, yes, and I didn’t have any dinner tonight, because I had to put those herbs in the stew that would put them to sleep. Berner was certain that I had used blood magic to influence their minds. He’s afraid that I cursed them, too, but maybe it’s better that he live in fear of that in the future.”

“The place where I had planned to camp is only a little farther along the beach, Bethany,” Stroud murmured. “But if you are too tired to continue, we can find another place.”

She shook her head and settled back against his chest, feeling his arm tighten around her again. Perhaps she hadn’t truly understood how tired she was, because she was suddenly aware of Stroud saying her name to wake her back up. She rubbed her eyes and looked around at the moonlit beach and then over her shoulder at him.

“Just over there,” he said, nodding his head toward a tangle of debris that was piled up against a fallen tree. “It’s dry and well camouflaged. We will be safe.”

After yawning and stretching her arms away from her body, Bethany let Stroud lower her to the ground and went to get her pack from her horse’s saddle. She also took the other Grey Warden’s things and scooted between the sun-bleached branches on the little campsite that he had found. Laying their blankets on the softest part of the shelter that she could find, she sat down and searched through her pack until she found her tin of biscuits and tucked one into her mouth. She was still chewing when Stroud slipped into their shelter beside her and sat down on his own bedding.

“It’s probably wisest if we don’t have a fire,” he said, tugging at his boots and placing them next to his pack. “The horses are fairly well hidden, so we should be fine until the sunrise.”

Shifting closer to him, she offered him a part of her biscuit, but he shook his head and settled under the blankets. When she had finished the little bite that would be her dinner, Bethany pulled her cover up to her neck. Rolling onto her side, she laid her head on Stroud’s shoulder and snuggled closer to him when his arm tightened around her. Rising up on one elbow, she draped herself across his chest and kissed him, her lips moving greedily over his until he let them fall apart and their tongues could move together. When he would have turned to face her, she slipped on top of him, tugging at the hem of her tunic so that it wouldn’t restrict her movement.

“But you are so tired, ma moitié. I should let you sleep.”

“And you and my horse must be exhausted from worrying about me,” she responded, sliding her hand under the opening of his jacket so that she could run her fingertips across his chest. “I’ll let you sleep, if that is what you would truly prefer.”

In response, he growled so deeply that she could feel the rumble all along the places where their bodies met. One of his hands came to the back of her head and pulled her closer so that he could trace kisses along the curves of her face. When his mouth finally returned to hers, she let him trap her lips with his and slipped her arms around his neck. His hands travelled across her back and found the hem of her tunic, tugging at it until he managed to strip it over her head.

It was too cold for them to remove all of their clothing, so Bethany had to be contented with exposing enough of her flesh to him — and his to her — that they could enjoy the sensation of skin against skin. She hadn’t known that it would be like this, that being apart from him could make each touch and kiss stir such vibrant sensations through her entire body. It was as if she was staring into a fire and, at odd moments, sparks would spray up from the burning at the heart of the blaze. Every inch of her body felt the steady heat, but it was those sparkling embers that forced sighing gasps from her lips. She chased them in wonder, striving to find the caresses that would send them racing through her over and over again.

When at last he brought their bodies together, she was shivering with the sensations, not the cold. He kept her on top of him so that she would be cushioned from the stony beach, and she learned another delight of their intimate dance. Bethany moaned his name while the shuddering fulfillment overtook her, and she let him tuck her back against his shoulder after he had sighed in satisfaction. She couldn’t help herself when she yawned, finally as tired in her mind as she was in her body, and she easily drifted to sleep.


	15. Part Three • Chapter Two • Kaaras

He had decided that he hated snow. Everything about it. The freezing bite of it in the tips of his ears, fingers, and toes. The wet when it melted, especially after it had crept between the folds of his clothing. The sting of it when the wind whipped it against his exposed skin. And the glare when the sun shone full on it. That might be the worst of all, because even trying to shield his eyes from the light didn’t help.

Hissera had called it beautiful when she first saw it. He wondered silently what she thought now, considering that she had been slogging through the stuff in the same way that he was right now.

Because he had sent her away.

She probably wasn’t ever going to forgive him for that. He would have to spend the next few months checking his bedding for thistles or watching for stray trip wires. At some point, she would have her revenge, and he would let her. It was the only way that she would be able to admit that he had been right to send her on with the refugees from Haven — by torturing him in some way that embarrassed him in front of all of their friends. He would play along, spluttering and cursing her, and then it would be done.

He will have been right, and she will have had her revenge.

Taking another slow step through the cursed whiteness, Kaaras silently wished that he was on the receiving end of her vengeance right now. Because it would mean that he was with her again, in whatever safety the survivors of Haven had managed to find in the snow-dusted crags. He needed a hot drink and a hot meal and a hot bath. Yes, hours and hours soaking in water that was so warm that it would feel like his skin was peeling away from his bones. If he could only be out of this freezing wet, he would endure any pain.

He stumbled and fell to one knee, his already chilled fingers falling into the snow and sending an aching up his arm. Pulling his feet under him, he rose and looked at the mountains around him. If he squinted against the wind and the glare, he could see the frost-covered shape of a pack horse that had collapsed during the escape. Despair washed through him: if a simple beast couldn’t make it through these mountains, how would he ever do it? He was alone now, completely separated from everyone who had become part of his life, lost in a raging snowstorm that would either reveal or disguise the way ahead on what seemed to him like a whim.

It seemed to him that his life had been taken over by the whims of forces outside of himself. The decision that had sent him to observe the conclave of the Divine; the people who had drawn him into their Inquisition by insisting that he had been given a holy edict to support them; the fact that he had been able to survive the attack on Haven by burying the entire place in an avalanche that had swept him into some long-forgotten network of tunnels. All whims that he had endured and overcome without ever truly understanding what was happening around him or why he was here. 

Especially here in the snow. It wasn’t a place where he belonged. Qunari were creatures of the warm islands, not the frost and snow. He belonged on a sandy beach with a large tankard of ale in his hand, a suckling pig turning on a spit over a blazing campfire.

He hadn’t realized that he had fallen to his knees again until he opened his eyes and the light glanced off the snow into his face. Lifting his hands, he realized that there was something wrong in this sense of warmth that had suddenly taken hold of him. There was no warmth in this ice wilderness — only cold, barren death all around him. Kaaras could barely feel the scrape of his beard against his fingertips as he dragged his hands from his eyes to his chin, and it worried him. Forcing himself back to his feet, he surged forward again.

Yes, he had survived the battle at Haven. Some people might even call it a victory, especially since they had thwarted the plans that Corypheus had bragged of to his face. He still had the green, swirling mark on his hand — an Anchor the magister had called it — and he could still use it against the demons and rifts of the Veil. According to Corypheus, he was stuck with the mark, because he had somehow tainted it in a way that made it useless to the magister. And they had managed to make a great part of the army useless to him, too.

But the magister had survived, and so had his dragon. And they would come for him again, he knew that.

There was little that he could do now except to struggle forward. Somehow, he would find the other survivors.

Step after step, he silently urged himself forward, continually searching for signs of the passage of the rest of his comrades from Haven. Occasionally, he found little marks from Hissera that he was going in the right direction — and that she was still alive. A peculiar notch in the branch of a tree that hung down in his face when he followed the pathway. A pile of rocks that appeared random from one side, but when he looked at them from another, he saw the mark that the Valo-Kas used on their contracts. The signs drew him onward, teasing him with the promise of companionship and rest, and he searched eagerly for them with his hands tucked tightly under his armpits.

But the storm seemed to gather closer to him with every step he took, and the swirling snow not only hid the towering mountainsides from his view, it also covered Hissera’s signs in a dusting of white powder. He could feel his muscles failing, screaming to be allowed to stop and rest, even while his mind urged him on. Kaaras wrapped himself more tightly in the need to keep going forward, ignoring the howl of the wind and the bite of the frost at the tips of his ears.

“Kaaras!” the wind whispered to him, but he ignored it. He refused to let anything keep him from his need to take another step. And another.

“Kaaras! Would you wake up, you great bumbling oaf!”

He lifted his head from his contemplation of the expanse of white in front of him, turning in the direction where he believed that the sound started. A tall figure was leaping through the piled snow toward him, the horns on her head glittering in the sunlight.

“It’s him,” he heard another voice call. Commander Cullen. He would know that Ferelden accent anywhere.

Relief overtook him. He collapsed in a heap into the frigid embrace of the snow.


	16. Part Three • Chapter Three • Rhoane Amell

She stared up at the spaces between the growth of the great shade tree, trying to determine whether the leaves were actually rustling, even though she didn’t feel any kind of breeze on her face, or if it was simply an effect of the shifting light of the Fade. It wasn’t often that Rhoane simply let herself relax when she was aware that she was dreaming. There had always seemed to be something to find or someone to meet. But not now. Now she was able to simply rest and study the landscape of the dream realm.

Could that be why she was here? Was there something that she could learn by just being aware in the Fade and examining her surroundings in more detail? What was it that she needed to understand in her dreams?

Rising up on her elbows, she looked around at the rope that was hanging from the branch of the tree. She wondered idly what it would be like — to be a child who had the freedom to swing back and forth like her daughter had when she had seen her in the Fade. Her earliest memories were of the long dormitory and the smell of the ancient books in the Circle Tower. Sometimes, in odd moments, she had flashes of another life in a small house in a city, but they were rare, and Rhoane always wondered whether she wasn’t imagining them.

“I’m sorry about that,” a woman’s voice said to her in a soft whisper. The words made her sit straight up, and she saw the entity who claimed to be Leandra Amell Hawke, her mother, walking toward her, one hand trailing across the rough bark of the tree. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“It’s not polite to read someone’s thoughts when they in the Fade, Grandmama,” her daughter called from the rope while she tipped forward and backward to set her swing in motion. “But she’s right, Mama. They took you away in a second. Even Grandpapa didn’t have time to do anything.”

Rhoane rose to her feet and walked to the edge of the circle of shade cast by the tree, her back toward the entities who wanted to convince her that they were her family. “And there was never time to visit? To come and see what had happened to your daughter after you let the templars take her away?” Even as the words spilled from her mouth, she regretted them: having a family that visited had never made confinement any easier for the students in the Circle Tower that she had known. It had only made them chafe even more powerfully against their chains.

Turning to face the supposed Leandra, she started to apologize, but stopped when she saw the look on the entity’s representation of her mother’s face.

“It was me,” the spirit Leandra said slowly, tears streaming across her cheeks. “I … I lost myself when they took you. Days and days, all I did was sit in your bedroom and wait for you to come home. I was certain that the templars would discover that they were wrong.” Her mother walked toward her, lifting one hand as if to touch her hair and then letting it fall to her side. “Malcolm … he was going crazy trying to reach me. Trying to break the dark cloud that had settled around me. When I was in my right mind, I could see how desperate he was becoming. But I wasn’t … myself … very often, or I might have done more. For him.”

Rhoane could hear the great branch of the tree creak while her daughter’s rope whisked close to her and then away. If she hadn’t been in the Fade, she would worry at the speed and power of the swaying swing, certain that at any moment the tree limb would snap and little Leandra would go hurtling onto the jagged rocks beyond the reaching branches of the tree. As it was, she barely refrained from saying something to the girl. Instead, she turned to her mother.

“What happened then?” she asked the older Leandra even though she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know.

“Then?” The entity looked around at the meadow and the flowers sprouting randomly among the green grass that carpeted the earth. “Then I … I just forgot.”

“You forgot? You forgot the only child that you had at that moment?” Rhoane raged, taking an angry step toward the representation of her mother, her hands balling into tight fists at her sides. “You forgot? Me?”

“Mama, don’t be so mean to Grandmama,” her daughter called to her. “She really did just forget. Grandpapa made her.”

Rhoane could feel the anger that had been building inside of her wash away when she finally comprehended her daughter’s words. Her father had been a mage, and she knew that the Grey Wardens had forced him to use his own blood to lock the prison that had held Corypheus. Perhaps she could also admit that she had known the despair that could drive someone to risk the most desperate of actions to save someone that he or she loved. She would have done anything to save Abelas’s life after the had been slammed across the room by the lava creature in the thaig of the ancient dwarves. Her heart had broken when she’d seen his crumpled body lying on the stones, and only Anders’s unexpected arrival had kept her from tearing down the entire underground city.

She could understand why her father had made Leandra forget. Her only question was how.

Her daughter’s laughter surrounded her, and she found herself smiling gently at the music of the sound. Her heart seemed to lift within her body, and she felt herself begin to giggle as the sudden elation filled her.

Until she heard the wolf howl.

And she found herself wide awake on her bedroll next to her husband and daughter. Sitting up in the darkness, she reached out to grasp her staff in her hand and set the stone alight. She stood and swung the glow in a wide arc, freezing when two sets of eyes shone back at her from the gloom. Silently, she poked her toe into her husband’s side and was grateful when he immediately rose to his feet and drew his sword. Leandra, upset by the loss of the warmth that had held her cradled safely, began to cry.

The wolves started to growl, and Abelas took two long steps forward, his sword leveled between himself and the sharp teeth that were bared at him. Dropping to one knee, Rhoane lifted Leandra in her arms, tucking the little girl against her chest, sighing with relief when the baby dropped her head against her mother’s shoulder. Resettling her staff in her hand, she started drawing mana to her, circling so that her back was to Abelas’s, knowing that the wolves would be hunting in a pack.

She heard the snarling yap that meant that one of the creatures behind her had leaped toward her husband, but she couldn’t help him. At the same moment, a wolf came at her and Leandra from the opposite direction, lunging toward her knees from the darkness. Slamming her staff into the ground, she sent a shiver of power through the earth, upsetting the wolf’s footing and sending it sprawling at her feet. She swept her staff in a short arc, sending a bolt of energy toward the animal on the ground, watching as it crackled through the air and wreathed the wolf in a blue-white glow. The creature shrieked and raced into the darkness, and Rhoane could follow its path until it disappeared among the rocks that covered the plain around them. Another wolf prowled past but kept its distance until it heard the yelp of one of its pack mates, skewered by Abelas’s sword, she assumed. Its yellow eyes met hers for a long moment, and then it turned and loped off into the darkness.

“Are you well, ma vhenan?” Abelas asked behind her, and she felt the pressure of his back against her own. “My two girls?”

“Fine. We’re fine,” Rhoane said, placing the butt end of her staff on the ground and pouring some more mana into the stone so that it would glow more brightly. She studied her husband’s face for a moment and then looked him over from head to foot. “And you?”

He smiled crookedly at her. “A few untrained dogs are not too much for me. Can you imagine what Noble would have to say to them, if he had been here?”

She giggled and scanned the ground where their little camp had been set. “I thought that I heard one behind me that you had injured. Where did it go?”

Abelas reached out and took Leandra from her arms. “Escaped with the others of the pack. I’m simply glad to not have to drag a carcass away in the middle of the night.”

Smiling at him, she walked the circle of their camp and re-established her wards so that she could sleep soundly. When she was done, she settled back beside Abelas and Leandra, reaching out to trace a finger down her daughter’s slightly longer ear. “I dreamed of her again, Abelas,” she whispered. “Of the two Leandras.”

“Truly? Was she as impatient as the last time? Had she grown again?”

She laughed. “No, she was the same as the last time. She … she defended my mother having to send me away to the Tower. And,” she swallowed hard at the memory of her daughter in the Fade. “And she implied that my father used blood magic to make Leandra forget that I had ever existed.”

Abelas shrugged. “Your father was a powerful mage.”

“I suppose you have a different view of what kinds of magic are … permissible. But I’ve had too much training to resist blood magic. I … I can’t believe …” Her voice broke, and she wrapped her hand around the back of her baby’s head.

Her husband laid one of his hands against her cheek. “Sleep, ma vhenan,” he said quietly. “This is all the past, and there is nothing that can be done. We live with the world that was created for us. I, for one, am not completely unhappy with my lot in this life.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Settling Leandra more comfortably between them, she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

It was later that afternoon when Rhoane stared out across the river that should have flowed out into the Waking Sea, if it weren’t for the dam that restricted its flow, reducing it to a bare trickle on the other side. But it wasn’t the marvelous engineering of the huge stone edifice or the sparkling of the sunlight on the deep, blue water that held her attention. It was the roiling, lightning-laced energy of the small rift that floated just above the surface of the lake that was formed behind the dam that kept her attention. She knew that it meant that there could be demons in the area, that the people could be tainted from the evil contained just behind the rent, and that they were walking straight into danger.

The rift probably also meant that the Inquisition would come. The Inquisition always came.

There was little enough else that she knew about what the Inquisition was doing now. It was almost enough to know that it had survived and that Jaya had managed to make her way through the mountains to the new stronghold that that Qunari mage — Kaaras — had somehow found in the snowy peaks. They called it “Skyhold,” and she hoped that it would give them solace and a place to build themselves up again.

Because, if the swirling green wrongness above the lake meant anything, it seemed as if they were going to need the Inquisition for a while longer.

“Well, ma vhenan,” Abelas said beside her, “are we braving the village? Or should we seek out this cave that you seem to have marked on one of your remarkable Grey Warden maps?”

Turning away from the lake, she smiled at her husband and crossed to where he was standing with their daughter holding on to his fingers and taking tiny steps in the rough grass. She slipped to her knees and held her arms toward Leandra, but the baby only laughed and kept picking up and placing her feet on the uneven ground.

“I suppose she’ll walk unaided when she’s ready,” Rhoane said, rising to her feet again.

Abelas nodded. “It might be easier for her on a flatter surface. These hillsides can even challenge our balance at times. So much harder for someone who hasn’t even mastered the mechanics of putting one foot in front of another.”

“Like we should do,” she said matter-of-factly. “Let’s get going to that cave.”


	17. Part Three • Chapter Four • Hissera

Hissera skipped up the long staircase that led to the room that Kaaras had been given at the top of Skyhold, looking around eagerly at the open space and the huge, padded bed. She wasn’t certain that he deserved all of this luxury — it wasn’t anything like the little berth that she had carved for herself out of the remains of one of the towers that no one else had decided was useful. It had given her a view that rivaled her brother’s, she could say that; but it wasn’t anywhere near as comfortable. If it rained or snowed, she would have to move into the tavern to keep dry.

Until they had made some more repairs to the keep. Then maybe she’d have a solid roof above her head.

Racing across the room, she flung herself onto the wide bed, feeling it bounce beneath her for a moment, the ropes that held the mattress in place creaking ominously. “I think we need to trade. You can camp in my tent … at least three or four times a week. And I’ll take this room. I am your baby sister, after all, and you should be taking much, much better care of me.”

Kaaras seemed to ignore her, placing his hands on the railing around the balcony so that he could lean out to stare at the snow-capped mountains that surrounded Skyhold. Rolling on one side, she propped her head on her hand and tried again.

“Did your trek through the snow damage your hearing? I know they thought that you might lose the tips of your ears, but they didn’t say anything else was threatened. You’re not going to be much use to them if you can’t hear all that chatter around that giant slab of wood that you’re using as a table in you war room. How did they get that in there anyway? I mean, I know that it’s a piece from the trunk of a tree, but what I …”

“Hissera,” her brother said sternly, stepping into the room and coming to stand at the foot of his bed. She stopped talking and looked up at him, raising one eyebrow as a question. When he didn’t say anything, she tried again.

“What? Aren’t you enjoying your promotion?”

He shook his head and turned to stare out the long windows again, crossing his arms on his chest. Ever since the leaders of the Inquisition had named Kaaras as their leader — their Inquisitor — he had become more withdrawn and solemn. Even more withdrawn and solemn than he usually was, and it made her worry. And chatter too much. She always did that when he stopped talking to her.

The silence between them stretched on for long moments, but she couldn’t think of anything to say that would help. The Inquisition had made its decision and had completely severed her brother from the life that he had known. For good or ill, his entire existence was now tied to what she thought of as a meaningless title and an organization that — if she was completely honest — had barely escaped from the destruction of Haven. If the people who made up the Inquisition thought that naming her brother as their leader was going to help them in some way, they were insane.

Kaaras sighed and sat down on the end of the bed, placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “They told me that I had earned it, and they put a sword in my hands. Then they gave me a title. They expect so much.” He turned, looked at her over his shoulder, and groaned, “And I don’t know why.”

Scooting down to sit beside him, Hissera draped one arm around his shoulders. “They chose you, because you’ve already been leading them. They looked to you to make the decisions of where to go and who to add to the Inquisition. You convinced them to accept the mages and leave the Templars to their own devices. You gave them hope when most of them thought that the world was coming to an end. But I don’t know why you need me to tell you all this. They tell you every day how special you are to them. Not to me, of course. You’re only my brother.”

He laughed and shook his head. “They want me because of this …” he said, opening his left hand so that she could see the electric, green energy of the mark on his palm. “Not one of them cares about me, and so very many of them don’t understand how a Qunari has been put at the head of an organization that comes from their faith — from their Chantry.”

Hissera snorted, frowning at him when their eyes met. “Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself. Did you honestly think that coming south was going to give you a chance to find a whole new group of friends? A mate for the rest of your life? You did it for the same reason that you did anything for the Valo-Kas: so that the group could have a better chance for profits. And because Shokrakar sent you.”

“And because you forced me into it.”

She laughed again and continued. “If you want to make decisions, Kaaras, they’ve just given you your chance.”

“Do you think so?” She could see a light spring up in his eyes, some spark of hope that he still could control his destiny. Smiling slyly, she agreed.

“Of course. And the best decision that you can make right now is that this room is simply too much for you. You should go tell someone. Right now.”

“Should I?” he asked. Looking around at the desk that was now his and the expanse of the bed, he seemed to consider her suggestion. “You do know that, if I give this space up to you, they’re going to be able to find you whenever they want something.”

Frowning, she stuck her tongue out at him. “Oh, fine. I’ll stay in my tent out in the cold and wind and rain.”

He smiled at her. “It will build character, Hissera.”

Lifting her arm from around him, she pushed against his shoulder, forcing him to tip away from her. He laughed and slipped his hand under her leg, lifting her knee and almost making her fall from the bed. Hissera caught hold of the shoulder of his tunic, but she couldn’t stop her own momentum. Together, they tumbled to the floor, and she quickly rolled toward the long windows, jumping to her feet when she was clear of the tangle of their bodies.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Kaaras,” she said.

She heard a rapping at the door at the bottom of the stairs and a voice called up to her brother.

“Inquisitor?”

“Yes,” her brother called.

“If I may, Inquisitor,” Josephine, the person that everyone in the organization turned to for an accurate accounting of their funds and for a diplomatic turn of phrase in a difficult situation. “I have a set of … Oh, forgive me. I had thought that you were alone.”

Hissera looked over at the dark-haired woman, studying the surprised look on her face and the flush that rose up in her tanned skin. She had seen the way that Kaaras tipped his head closer to Josephine’s when she talked to him, how his eyes lingered on her when she carried her records out of a meeting in the war room. Despite the fact that the woman was a human from Antiva, her brother found something special in her. At least that was how it appeared to her. And she had no reason to stand in the way of any little happiness that Kaaras could find.

“I have to run out to the stable,” she lied quickly. “They’re supposed to be getting a new mount, and I wanted to see when it arrived.” Scooting past where Josephine was standing on the stairs, she called back to her brother, “I’ll be back so that we can finish those arrangements that I was talking about. Just consider it.”

She heard her brother laugh shortly and then begin speaking with his ambassador. Ignoring the tone of his voice wasn’t easy: she was intensely curious about his feelings for the Antivan woman and how their relationship would progress. But Kaaras deserved his privacy. There were other places that she could be and other peoples’ stories for her to hear.

Slipping through the hallways of Skyhold, she found her way into the kitchens and picked up a few apples from a barrel in the storeroom and slipped all but one of them into a pocket of her jacket. She was about to open the door that led out into the stable yard when it was pulled from her hand. To her surprise, Varric was on the other side, and he looked up at her, almost as startled as she was.

“Well, hello there, Silence,” the dwarf said to her. “Can I interest you in a game of Wicked Grace?”

Hissera laughed and passed through the doorway and down a few steps so that her eyes could be on the same level and neither of them would have to injure themselves trying to speak with the other. “You should know better by now. I’ve had no funds of my own — honestly I have very few even now — so I’ve never learned to play any games of chance.”

“That should never be a barrier to an opportunity to lose your shirt … or your very attractive Antivan leather boots,” he teased. “There’s always something that you can put up in a wager, if you’ve got the right fish on the hook.”

Laughing, she took another step down the stairs. “But which one of us is the fisherman and which the fish in this instance, Varric? I’m certain that I have a strong grasp on that. Do you?”

“Silence, I have exactly the understanding of the situation that I need,” he replied. “So, about that game?”

Shaking her head, she started down the stairs again when the dwarf’s voice stopped her. She turned to watch his face while he spoke.

“Could you tell me — ” he asked tentatively, his eyes focused on something far away, “how’s your brother when it comes to receiving bad news? Well, maybe not bad news. But information that he probably should have heard a few months ago?”

She frowned up at him and studied his features more closely. Even though most people would think of the dwarf’s face as expressionless, Hissera believed that he was too much of a storyteller to keep his emotions from his visage all the time. She’d listened to enough of his outrageous stories to know that the extreme contortions he could subject his face to were as much of the process of the tale as the words were. She’d even managed to find a volume of his writing — actually published on pressed paper and bound with an embossed leather cover — in the library at Skyhold, but all she had been able to do was look at the pictures. The process of stringing those black squiggles on the page into understandable phrases had eluded her. For the moment. There might be time now for her to do something about that.

“Well,” she replied, taking a small bite from her apple and chewing it while she considered what to say. “You know my brother. Short on words. More willing to let you think whatever you want about his reaction. But then again, he is a mage.” She waggled her eyebrows at him. “And you know how they can be when they’re angry.”

Varric gasped and pressed one hand to the deep neckline of his tunic and his very furry chest in a decidedly unmanly fashion. “I’m shaking in my boots, Silence. And since you’ve made it so obvious that I shouldn’t bait the bear in his den, it’s only right that you come along and protect me from him.”

“Me? What good will I be? And why do you need protection?”

Varric waved her questions away. “It’s just a precaution. You can stand between us and be my shield. From projectiles and magic.”

She laughed again and resumed her walk down the stairs. “Not for all the gold I could lose to you at Wicked Grace, Varric.”

“You’re heartless,” he called after her, “leaving me to my fate like this. Silence? Silence!”

Ignoring the fear — which she was almost certain was feigned — in his voice, she walked across the stable yard, past the vendors who had been persuaded to offer their wares to the people of Skyhold, and up one of the other sets of stairs that led to the battlements at the front of the keep. Jumping on a lower piece of stonework, she climbed up onto the higher section of the crenelation and sat looking out across the long bridge that provided the only access to the castle. Swinging her feet, she took another bite of her apple and chewed it thoughtfully, wondering how Kaaras’s conversation with Josephine was going.

“People get nervous when I do that,” a voice said beside her, and she looked over at a small figure in dirty leather armor and a wide-brimmed hat that hid his face from her eyes. It was Cole, the mysterious being who had suddenly arrived at Haven to warn them about the advance of Corypheus and his army of templars. No one knew where he had come from, and from what she had seen, many people couldn’t even remember that he existed when he wasn’t standing directly in front of them. The boy confused her, but Kaaras seemed to think that he was no threat to them or the Inquisition, so she was willing to try to get along with him.

“Let’s not tell anyone that we’re out here then,” she said, pulling an apple from her pocket and offering it to Cole. He took it from her and studied it for a long time, turning it between his long, white fingers and staring at the red-gold of its skin as if he wanted to remember every detail. Nibbling around the core of her own apple, she reduced it to as little of the edible parts as she possibly could and then drew back her arm and sent the remains spiraling down into the deep canyons that surrounded Skyhold. Cole leaned forward, tipping dangerously far out over the sheer edge of the front of the keep. Hissera looked over at him curiously but didn’t do anything: the boy was some kind of thief. He would have an excellent sense of balance, no matter what.

“Why did you do that?” he said, looking up at her with his pale blue eyes just visible behind the long strands of his equally pale blond hair.

“Because it was fun. Did you see how far it fell?”

“Not really. I couldn’t see it after a while. Could we go look for it? Do you think we could find it?”

“No, Cole,” Hissera said. “You know what happens when things fall from a great height. That poor apple core will have hit every rock it possibly could on the way down, and anything that managed to make it to the bottom of the canyon will be mush.”

Cole slipped up onto the stonework beside her and started swinging his feet in rhythm with hers. “That’s … it makes me happy to know that.”

She tipped her head to one side and stared at his profile. “Really? Why?”

“That apple core has left pieces of itself all over the earth now,” he explained. “And the ants and birds and flies will find those bits and get stronger. And then they’ll make more ants and birds. I would like to be like that some day, something that makes others stronger and happier.”

While Hissera watched, Cole drew back his arm and hurled his bright, red apple into the air above the canyon. Like one person, they leaned forward and watched the dot of fiery color until it disappeared from sight.


	18. Part Three • Chapter Five • Jaya Hawke

The sun had just crested the snow-capped peaks to the east of Skyhold when Jaya stuffed the last crumbs of a biscuit into her mouth and rose to her feet. Brushing her hands over her trousers, she walked to the edge of the cave where she and Fenris had been sheltering and glanced toward the tree line that was just beyond the rocks in front of the opening. Varric should come through there to find her, to take her back with him to the stronghold in the mountains to meet their Inquisitor. For some reason, the dwarf had decided that they needed her, but she was confused as to why that would be.

But she felt more prepared to face the members of the Inquisition and their questions now than she had only a few days ago. Fenris had left her in the mountains so that he could try to gather information from the people who were traveling toward the great keep — whether to fight for the army that was gathering there, to sell their wares, or simply so that they could feel safe somewhere in a world turned upside-down. He had managed to speak to a few of the travelers and, by some great stroke of luck, he had received a letter from her sister, Bethany, updating the information they had about what was going on in the rest of Thedas.

“Are you ready?” Fenris asked her, coming to stand beside her in the opening of the cave. “And you’re certain that you don’t want me to go with you?”

Shaking her head, she turned and slipped closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and dropping his head against the side of his neck. She had missed him while he had been away in the last few days, and she was grateful that he had returned to her before she needed to go with Varric to the Inquisition. But something was holding her back, making her reluctant to leave her lover, even though she knew that she would return before nightfall. That fear that had made her so cold before they had left their home in the Hunterhorn Mountains had returned. And she knew it had nothing to do with the frosting of snow that covered every peak around them.

“What is it, Hawke?” Fenris asked gently, bringing his arms around her and holding her tightly against his chest. He dropped his cheek against her head, one of his hands gently stroking her back in a soothing motion.

She shook her head again and tried to get even closer to him. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I just have this sense of dread. I’ve had it since we decided to leave our home.” Dropping her arms from around him, she stepped away and paced around the little space available in the cave. Deliberately, she kept her back to him and crossed her arms on her chest. “Fenris, if anything happens to me, I want you to swear to me that you’ll take care of my sisters. Both of them. No matter what.”

“Hawke, don’t be ridiculous,” he said. He walked to her side and tipped her chin so that she was forced to look into the gold-green of his eyes. “Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t let it.”

Wrapping her hand around his, she said, “I know you believe that. But it’s hard for me to ignore this … this feeling that something is so very wrong.”

“I know that the return of Corypheus hasn’t helped how you’re feeling, my love,” Fenris said, walking toward where their bedding was still laid out on the floor of the cave. “But there was no way that we could know that he hadn’t stayed dead. After all, most of the people we’ve killed have.”

“Have what?”

“Stayed dead. We’ve been very good about killing people who have gotten in our way. The Arishok. My former master. The bastard who killed your mother. The Knight Commander. All dead. And they stayed that way.”

Jaya stared after him, wondering at the teasing in his voice. It was so unlike the Fenris that she had known in Kirkwall, who had truly earned the nickname that Varric had given him — “Broody.” But her body was filled with a tension that she couldn’t name, and nothing that she had done, including their battles with the demons that they had encountered on the road, had managed to lessen her sense of impending doom.

And the lyrium-branded elf was mocking her for it.

Crossing her arms, she walked back to the opening of the cave and leaned one of her shoulders against the curve of a rock. She knew that she shouldn’t take her edginess out on Fenris and that he truly meant it when he said that he would protect her from absolutely anything that would threaten her. That was the depth of his love for her: nothing would separate them if the lyrium-branded elf could help it, and she loved him more for it.

She heard him moving behind her, but she kept her eyes locked on the trees in the distance. Something in the back of her mind told her that it might be easier — right now, in this moment — to simply break away from Fenris. It would keep him safe from whatever she felt was coming for her, and it would give him time to find something else to fill his life.

Or someone else. That might be better for him, too.

“You’re truly bothered by this, aren’t you, Hawke?” he said right behind her, and she nodded briefly, unwilling to trust her voice in that moment. She could feel the brush of his breath against her ear when he whispered, “I think that I can understand. All those years when I was being hunted by the slavers, everything in my life was prepared for the moment when one of them walked through the door. It was hard for me to find a moment when there was hope, and … well, you know how I handled that. If we weren’t in a battle, I was emptying every bottle that I could find.” He stopped and pressed his lips against her hair. “And then there was you.”

Jaya laughed and turned to face him. “Oh, yes, I was no help in lessening your tension. Forcing you to support mages when you would rather have ripped them all to pieces. Making you fight for them …”

“I fought for you,” he whispered, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. “I always will.”

“Well, this is a pretty picture,” Varric said from the cave mouth. “Broody without a frown on his face. Only you, Hawke, could have done it.”

Jaya could feel Fenris’s arms fall from around her, and he turned to face their friend, who was standing just outside of their shelter. The frown that drew his deep, black eyebrows together had returned to his face, and she watched him cross his arms on his chest and look over at the dwarf with an impatient glower.

“Why don’t you come in for a moment while Hawke gets ready,” Fenris asked.

Varric shook his head. “Deep hatred of caves, thank you very much. I’ll keep the clear, blue sky over my head, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” Hawke said, walking to where the dwarf was standing and passed him, moving toward the trees.

“Wait! Hawke, don’t you want to …?” Varric called after her, but Jaya ignored him and slipped down the path away from the cave. She could hear the rattle of loose stones and the snap of branches when the dwarf raced to catch up with her. “Hawke. Hawke! What’s going on? It’s not like we need to race up to Skyhold. There was time for you to say good-bye to Fenris.”

“There’s no need, Varric,” she said, ducking under a low-hanging branch. “Fenris knows that I’ll be back later today. It’s not like he’s going anywhere while we’re away.”

“Are you sure about that? He didn’t seem very happy to see me.”

“You expected that? For him to be happy?”

She felt the dwarf’s hand on her arm and stopped to look down at him. “But he is happy, Hawke, and so are you. Right?”

“I’ll be happier after I get done with your Inquisitor.”

Varrric cleared his throat and started walking again. “Well, that’s a little bit of the problem. I’m going to have to get you into Skyhold without anyone seeing — especially Cassandra and Leliana. I’ll have very little left of all the parts of myself that I value so very much …”

Hawke laughed lightly. “Just tell me how I get in.”

Within the hour, Jaya was leaning on the balustrade overlooking the center courtyard of Skyhold, having managed slip into the keep with the help of a group of travelers and a large wagon of barrels for the tavern. She couldn’t say that she was impressed by what she saw: there were still to many places where the walls had collapsed on themselves and the wood looked like it had seen too many harsh winters. But it was a highly defensible sanctuary, up here in the mountains, so it was easy to understand why they had chosen it. Or maybe they hadn’t. Like so many other things that had happened or that she had stumbled across in her life, maybe this had simply been chance, too.

“If you don’t mind,” Varric said, coming down the steps that led to the landing where she was waiting, “I’m going to drink throughout this interview. There’s probably not a lot that I can add anyway.”

Turning, Hawke was surprised to see that there were two Qunari accompanying the dwarf, one male and one female. “What’s this, Varric?” she asked tersely, preparing herself to leave immediately if she thought that it was the best course.

“This is the Inquisitor, Kaaras,” he said, waving the bottle of wine that he was carrying toward the two Qunari. “He’s the very tall one. The other is Silence …”

“Hissera,” the woman snapped, frowning at him. “My name is ‘Hissera,’ Varric, and I’d really appreciate it if you could at least try to say it once in a while. After all, I use your name quite regularly. Both of them, when I have the chance …”

“She’s the only slightly less tall one. But you do see, don’t you,” Varric interrupted, taking a swig of wine, “how ‘Silence’ is a completely appropriate name for her? She tends to do most of our Inquisitor’s talking for him, which might also be appropriate, considering what they do to Qunari mages of the Qun.”

Hawke looked over at other woman. “Don’t worry about it. He gives everyone nicknames. At least you’re not called ‘Broody.’”

Hissera leaned closer to Varric and put her hands on her hips. “You actually call someone that? Why would you do that?”

The dwarf waved her question away with the hand that wasn’t holding his wine and replied, “If you knew him, you’d understand. I don’t think that I can recall a day since I met him when there wasn’t a glower on his face. You would call him ‘Broody,’ too, Silence. Believe me.”

The Qunari called ‘Hissera’ started grilling Varric about the names that he gave to other people, so Hawke turned away and leaned her elbows on the stonework of the balcony. She was surprised when the Inquisitor leaned one of his hips against the wall beside her, turning his back on the dwarf and his sister. He stood there, quietly ignoring the argument, but Hawke wasn’t certain why he was waiting. She thought that Varric had brought her here for him, but maybe she was wrong.

“So, Inquisitor,” Varric finally said, managing to escape from his disagreement with Hissera, “do you think we should tell Hawke that she just barely escaped having your job? Or will it just make her jealous?”

“Why would she be jealous?” Hissera asked him. “She escaped the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes and Haven by not being associated with the Inquisition. I think she’s lucky.”

“But Silence, all of this could have been hers!”

Hawke sighed and turned to look at Kaaras. “You know by now that we have a common enemy. I killed Corypheus once, but somehow he was able to come back. I can tell you what I know about him from that experience, which I hope will help you and the Inquisition as you go forward.”

“I appreciate that,” the Inquisitor said.

“I also …” Hawke started and then hesitated. She simply wasn’t certain how much they could help each other, but Bethany’s note had worried her as much as the strange gnawing fear that had gripped her. Taking a deep breath, she started again. “I also have something that I need your help with. It’s for the Grey Wardens.”

“What kind of trouble is Sunshine in now, Hawke?” Varric called to her, turning away from Hissera. “I thought she had her own personal Grey Warden Lieutenant to protect her now.”

Jaya nodded. “She does. It’s actually about him. The Grey Wardens are looking for him, and we’re not sure why. But it has to do with a Calling that many Wardens are reporting hearing.”

She quickly explained everything that Bethany’s note had said. She wondered out loud whether it could be a coincidence that their problems with the Wardens were happening at the same time that a darkspawn magister that they had held imprisoned was alive again and free to walk Thedas. She could see Varric taking regular, deep pulls from his bottle, and the two Qunari stared at her with their amber-colored eyes. When she had finished explaining what she needed, she watched the Inquisitor quietly consider the information and then look over at his sister. She shrugged at him, and he nodded shortly.

“We can help,” was all he said.


	19. Part Three • Chapter Six • Bethany Hawke

The city of Denerim was nothing like she had expected it to be. But, then again, she’d never seen a town that had been destroyed by an invasion of darkspawn before now. Certainly, she’d seen what the Qunari and the explosion that had destroyed the chantry in Kirkwall could do. But Kirkwall had been built over generations by dwarven craftsmen — masons who worked stone as if it were fabric. Except for Drakon’s Keep and some of the landed family houses, most of Denerim had been built from wood, which meant that when the darkspawn had swept through, many of the buildings had suffered from the attack. And even after all the years since the end of the Blight, scars remained.

Rhoane seemed equally as curious about the reconstruction of the capital, but it was more difficult for her to simply stare around at the buildings. The Hero of Ferelden was legend here, her story spread to any ears willing to listen to how she led the defeat of the Archdemon and ended the Blight. Despite the fact that most of the stories made her seem ten feet tall with fireballs circling her head, they still had her raven-wing black hair and deep brown eyes right. Luckily, her sister had brought a hooded cloak with her when they had left their village.

Of course, Bethany had the same dark hair and eyes, but she wore the uniform of a lower ranking member of the Grey Wardens. Everyone in Denerim was too proud of the fact that their Hero was a Warden Commander to mistake her for their legend.

They led their horses through the great gate on the northwestern side of the city, the guards stationed there giving her and Stroud — who had decided that they should wear their uniforms into the city — respectful nods as they walked past. Abelas, Rhoane, and Leandra they ignored, probably assuming that they were just another woman and her servant coming into the city to find work or visit family. The wide, paved roadway led them into the city’s bustling marketplace, where merchants had their stalls and the rumble of negotiations created an underpinning for every conversation. Bethany looked around eagerly, wishing that they had a moment for her to look at some of the goods laid out under the brightly colored awnings that created a covered oasis for the sellers and their customers in the middle of the square.

“We could use some herbs for healing,” Rhoane whispered, coming up to her on the side that was away from her horse. “If you wanted a chance to look around.”

Bethany smiled and called to Stroud, handing him her horse’s reins and then walking over to the closest stall to them. The merchant handled fabrics — in a sparkling variety of jeweled tones with golden thread woven throughout. He tried to engage her in conversation, but she knew that, as beautiful as the garments that could be made from the silk would be, she had no place to wear them. She passed by that stall and one selling a wicked-looking collections of weapons and a few pieces of armor. But when she reached a man dealing in maps and books, she had to stop.

“Grey Warden!” the seller cried, hobbling over from his place at the back of the stall. “And a seeker of knowledge, if your staff is any indication. How may I serve you?”

Bethany shook her head. “No, no. I don’t have time for books. I … I just miss them.”

“Ah, a long, lost friend, then,” the merchant said, leaning closer so that he could study her in greater detail. She noticed for the first time that he was an elf, but that he had tucked the long points of his ears up under a wide-brimmed hat. The swishes of tattoos on his cheeks seemed to emphasize the curve of his cheekbones, and his golden eyes stared at her with intense curiosity. “Would that I could be the friend that you are seeking.”

She laughed to try to reduce the uncomfortable feeling that his words created. Selling was one thing, but she didn’t know many merchants who would use their sexuality as a tool to make a sale. Lifting one eyebrow, she studied the elf’s face for a moment before shaking her head and turning to walk away.

“You are remarkably like your sister,” the merchant said in a voice that was meant for her ears alone. The words stopped her, and she faced the elf again. “Like your eldest sister, to be sure. You and Hawke resemble each other only in the most minor of your features. But you and your other sister. You could be images reflected in a mirror.”

Bethany blinked and looked quickly around. “All right,” she said in a voice loud enough for anyone who was curious about her behavior to hear, “I’ll take a look at this book. Can you lead me to it?”

The elf bowed and moved aside so that she could cross to the back of his stall where he had table with a pile of mouldering tomes and maps. Taking one carefully from the collection, he laid it out on a piece of velvet, opening it so that she could see the words and images on the inside. Not that she actually could see them. They were all squiggles and blurs, out of focus because her real focus was on the conversation she was having with the man at her side.

“I assume that you are curious,” the elf said, turning one of the pages that she was pretending to examine. “You have no need to worry. Your sister and I are old friends. And I already tried to kill her once, so I know that it is a fool’s errand from the beginning.”

“Wait,” Bethany gasped. “What? You tried to kill Rhoane?”

“Only once. After that, I protected her.”

She chanced a look over at the elf’s face. “So, you’re Zevran?”

A smile spread across his face. “I would bow; however, it would be completely out of character at this point in our negotiations. Let us just say that you are correct, and that I am called ‘Zev’ by my friends. Of which I hope that I may number you, too, in the very near future, Bethany.”

Turning back to the book, she said softly, “I will have to consult with my sisters about that.”

The elf chuckled. “A wise decision. Perhaps I could consult with them, too. Tonight. At the Pearl?”

Bethany closed the book in front of her and turned to face the elf that she now knew was her sister’s friend, Zevran Arainai. “I might be interested,” she said, meeting his eyes. “But I don’t have time now. And if you discover that you have a similar jewel available, I will be in the city for a short time.”

“I understand, Grey Warden,” Zevran said, picking up the book and placing it back where it belonged. “I hope that you will have a productive visit in the capital.”

Turning on her heel, she circled around the stalls until she found an herbalist, quickly selecting a variety of clippings that she could make into useful tinctures and potions. In an effort to make it seem like she wasn’t rushing back to Stroud and the others, she selected a some dried blossoms just for herself, hoping that at some point in the future, she would be able to enjoy a hot bath. Dropping coins into the smiling merchant’s hand, she picked up the wrapped herbs and slipped them into the pouch at her waist. Thanking the herbalist, she finished her exploration of the stalls of the market and then walked back to where her family was waiting.

“Did you have some fun, ma moitié?” Stroud asked her, handing her the reins of her horse and starting toward the gate that should lead them to the docks of Denerim.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, waiting for her sister to catch up with her. “You meet the most interesting people in the marketplace.”

Rhoane raised an eyebrow at her. “I’ll tell you when we’re at the Pearl.”

The Pearl hadn’t been her sister’s first choice for lodgings when they had chosen to come to Denerim. In the years before the end of the Blight, it had been an infamous brothel where the men and women of Thedas came to indulge their wildest fantasies. After the city had been nearly destroyed, there had been less loose money and turning the Pearl back into an inn had been the easiest way for the owner to keep the roof over her head. She had opened her rooms to the craftsmen and artisans who needed a place to stay while they cleared the debris and constructed the buildings that the city needed to thrive. And if one of those guests occasionally found a willing bedmate in his or her room, it was just another of the excellent services provided by the Pearl.

They were able to secure two bed chambers with a sitting room that they shared, but they were chatting in the taproom later that afternoon when Zevran strolled through the door. The elven assassin waved merrily to the man behind the bar and blew an extravagant kiss to the innkeeper, who looked at him questioningly. When he reluctantly shook his head, she returned to the conversation she was having with one of her suppliers. Rhoane rose and walked into Zevran’s embrace, hugging him briefly and then leading him back to where they were sitting around a low table. Leandra was holding onto the edge and using it to walk around and around the little rectangle of wood, but she stopped and wandered back to her father when the strange elf joined them.

“Ah, a daddy’s girl,” Zevran said, smiling down at the child. Bethany saw her frown at him and laughed softly.

“She seems to have sized you up in just an instant,” she said, taking a sip of the drink that she was holding in her hand. They’d learned very quickly that Leandra would get her little fingers into anything that they left on the table, so they were all holding their glasses while they waited for Zevran to arrive.

“What is this bright star’s name, Rhoane?” he asked.

“This is Leandra. And even though you’ve never mentioned her, I feel certain that you know my sister, Bethany. The other Grey Warden is Stroud.” Rhoane made the introductions as quickly as she could, extending her arms when Leandra toddled over to her with the help of the table.

“We had thought you were still in Antiva City,” Abelas said, “and running the Crows.”

Zevran shrugged. “Administration had never been my strong suit. And things got a little … unfriendly for me. The Crows will always be the Crows, and I value my own life too much to put any organization ahead of that. So, here I am again, a rambling man of the world, left to my own devices.”

Bethany saw her sister study the elf’s face for a long moment. “And?” she asked pointedly.

“I should warn you, my friend,” Zevran said, leaning forward so that his elbows were on his knees. His voice dropped so that only they could hear him. “Leliana has very long arms and very sharp ears. She will hear if you are about. And I understand that she had seen your sister.”

Rhoane nodded. “We let her go to the Inquisition when Varric asked after the destruction of Haven.”

Shaking his head, the elf stared down at the floor between his feet. “That was a badly handled thing, that attack. On both sides. It almost makes me wish that we had been in charge of it.”

Bethany saw the look that her sister gave Zevran.

“I did say almost,” he admitted. “But I was still on the other side of Thedas, so I was unavailable. I should also tell you that I spoke to our other friend.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him that I had seen Grey Wardens in the marketplace and that I believed they were staying at the Pearl. He mentioned that he might be able to get out of the palace tonight.”

She saw her sister nod and easily fell into the conversation that started. As the afternoon turned into night, Zevran finally left to return to his own rooms, and she and Stroud continued their watch on the front door. A steady stream of renters — merchants and sailors and craftsmen from the city — came and went, but they mostly left the two Grey Wardens alone. Except that Bethany never reached into her purse to make certain that their glasses were full, and everyone who saw them smiled or nodded in a very friendly way. Denerim was still grateful for what the Grey Wardens had done for all of Ferelden, even if the rest of Thedas didn’t care.

It was late in the evening, and the crowd had crested and was slowly trickling back to the few temporary residents of Pearl. She had almost decided that she and Stroud should retreat to their chamber when a man in a dark, hooded cloak and worn leathers stepped up to them. Glancing up at the shadowed face, she smiled gently.

“Grey Wardens,” the man said in a soft voice. “I hope you’re feeling welcomed in Denerim.”

Stroud nodded and motioned for the man to join them. “We have appreciated the generosity of the citizens, and we certainly haven’t lacked for drink.”

The cloaked man didn’t sit down, and something in the way that he looked around himself made Bethany a little nervous herself. Looking over at Stroud, she caught his eye and nodded slightly. The Warden-Lieutenant rose and took a step closer to the other man.

“Your Majesty,” he said in a soft voice, “we are both honored that you came all the way here to speak with us, but we’re not certain that you’re completely comfortable here in the tap room. We have a private sitting room, if you would be more comfortable there.”

The man chuckled. “I never really have gotten the hang of this subterfuge thing. But I would appreciate a place where we could talk more freely.”

Bethany rose and walked down the long hallway to their sitting room. Opening the door, she walked in and held it open so that King Alistair Theirin could follow her. Stroud came in last and closed the door behind him.

“If you’ll wait here, Your Majesty,” Bethany said, bowing slightly, “someone will be with you in a moment.” With that, she and Stroud walked into their own chamber and locked the door behind them.


	20. Part Three • Chapter Seven • Rhoane Amell

Rhoane heard the lock of Stroud and Bethany’s room click and looked over to where Abelas was sitting. He ignored her, staring into the fire that crackled on the back wall of their room. Leandra fussed for a moment against her shoulder and then dropped her head tiredly against her collarbone. Tightening her hold on her daughter, she grasped the knob to the other room and opened it.

A man in a dark cloak and well-worn leather armor turned at the sound of the door, and Rhoane froze at the sight of him. In the dim candlelight of the sitting room, she couldn’t see his face, but there were things about the silhouette that were so familiar: the expanse of his shoulders and chest, the way he stood with his weight on both feet as if ready to draw his sword at any moment. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward him, her arms tightening around Leandra as if she were a shield that would protect her from what was coming.

“Rhoane!” he heard his gasping breath whispering her name and felt a momentary reminder of their love. Smiling, she crossed in front of him and looked up into the shadow cast by his hood.

“Your Majesty,” she said, dipping into a curtsey in front of him, her eyes dropping to the black leather of his boots. When those dark shoes took a step closer to her, she looked up and saw that he had pushed the hood back from his head. And there he was. Her Alistair.

Only it wasn’t her Alistair really. She could see how he had changed in the years since she had last seen him — when he had stood in the gateway to the Grey Warden keep at Amaranthine and wished her good luck, telling her that he would visit in secret when he could. And he never had. In some ways, it would have been kinder if he had broken with her before … before anything. But they had needed each other in the Blight. They had made each other strong so that they could get through.

“Rhoane,” he whispered again, his voice catching in his throat. “I didn’t … I couldn’t … Maker’s breath, where have you been? And who is this?”

She laughed nervously and gently slid her hand down her daughter’s back. “This is my daughter, Leandra. I had hoped that she would stay awake until you arrived, but as you can see …”

“No, no,” Alistair said, reaching out to touch her daughter’s sleeping face with one of his fingers. “It’s all my fault. I had to meet with my uncle and then Anora caught my attention before I could slip out of the palace. But I was hoping to talk with those Grey Wardens. You know, I haven’t talked to anyone from the Order for longer than a simple update, and I … I was missing … things.”

“Let me put her down, and we can talk, Alistair,” she said, walking back into her bedchamber. Placing her daughter in the crib that the inn had provided, she looked over at Abelas, who was still watching the fire. She tried to say something to her husband, but she didn’t understand why he was so cold to her. Turning on her heel, she returned to Alistair in the sitting room.

He was standing with her back to her, his hands clasped behind him when she closed the door to her bedchamber. She walked to the cushioned sofa and gestured for him to join her, but when he didn’t immediately sit down, she remained standing where she was, studying the tight muscles of his back. If it had been years ago, she would have crossed to him and wrapped him in her arms, pressing her cheek against his back and waiting until he had determined what it was that he needed to say. But she wasn’t his Rhoane anymore than he was her Alistair now. She let him battle with his feelings by himself.

“You left me,” he said in a low, whispering growl, turning to face her. She could see the confusion and pain in the frown that drew his eyebrows together and the lines that had begun to mark his face. There was something of that lost, little boy who had stared over at her so many days when they were wandering through the wilderness of Ferelden, desperately searching for anyone to support them or tell them that they were doing the right thing.

But she hadn’t left. That was not the way that she remembered it at all.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she replied, “You sent me away.” When his frown deepened, she continued, “You sent me away to rebuild a Grey Warden garrison in Amaranthine, and when you followed to wish me luck, you swore that you would visit again. You swore, Alistair. And then you never did.”

He turned away and paced across the room, whirling abruptly when he ran out of space and coming back toward her. Following him with her eyes, she waited, unwilling to reveal any more of the pain that he had caused her. Because it truly didn’t matter any more. She had found a greater happiness than anything that she could have experienced as the mistress of the king of Ferelden. When he stopped in front of her, Rhoane studied the slow opening and closing of his hands, unwilling to look into his face and see the pain and confusion that she knew would be there. She had always hated when he was hurt, though, and she struggled to find a way to make him feel better.

“I know that Anora gave you the idea of making me the Warden Commander, Alistair, and I have my own ideas as to why. And honestly, I can’t say that she made the wrong decision.”

“No,” Alistair said slowly, and she looked up to see a rueful smirk on the king’s face. “She sneaks up on you like that, getting you to do things or say things that turn out to be right in the end.” He sat down on the little couch, placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Sighing gratefully — it was a little too late for her to have spent Alistair’s entire visit on her feet — Rhoane sat down beside him.

“But why?” he whispered. “Why did you leave Amaranthine and the Grey Wardens there?”

Swallowing her regrets, she said, “I had to, Alistair. I was having dreams, and they … they led me away from Amaranthine. In fact, they led me all the way to Minrathous and the Hunterhorn Mountains.”

“You left Ferelden?”

“Yes. In fact, this is the first time I’ve been back in years.”

Lifting his head from his hands, he nodded and sat up straighter on the couch. “I did try to find you, after the seneschal told me that you’d left. But you … you didn’t leave much of a trail.”

“For anyone except Zevran. He’s always known where I was.”

“You still haven’t told me why, you know,” he said. “Why did you leave me … I mean, Vigil’s Keep, Rhoane?”

She sighed. It wasn’t something that she enjoyed talking about, the insistent pressure that her dreams had created in her, the need to find the answers no matter where they led her. Perhaps, she thought, it would be simpler to change the subject.

“I understand that Anora’s given you a son?”

Alistair nodded. “Maric Duncan Mac Tir Theirin. He’s a little older than your Leandra.” He looked over at her with a broad smile on his face. “He’s absolutely brilliant, walking and saying a few words already. I call him ‘Duncan,’ you know. It makes her a little crazy.”

“But you haven’t announced his birth to all of Thedas?”

He shook his head. “Anora wants to wait to see … to see whether he survives his younger years. She doesn’t want to raise anyone’s expectations. So many children … there’s so much illness …”

Laying her hand on one of his knees, she said, “But there is so much hope there, Alistair. You have a son. There will be others.”

He stared over at her, trying to understand her words. “There will? I had thought … I mean, we were told that Grey Wardens can’t have children. Anora thinks that we married early enough that it didn’t matter …”

“That’s not it, Alistair,” she said quietly. “I cured us. I cured all of us — every Grey Warden. I found a way to neutralized the taint in our blood. We can all have normal lives now.”

Alistair stared at her, and she realized that she would have to start from the beginning. They sat together while the candles flickered, and she told him about her quest for the cure for the Grey Warden curse. Their conversation eventually turned to the current troubles in the west, but he repeatedly rebuffed her requests for aide to the Inquisition or the peoples of other nations. The time passed almost without her noticing, until Alistair finally rose to his feet.

“I have to go back, Rhoane. If Anora doesn’t find me in our bed, she’ll send some of the guards to look for me. And she’ll send the ones who are loyal to her, so …”

“It was good to see you, Alistair,” she said, walking to where he was standing and extending her hand. He stared at it briefly and then pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly against his chest. Returning his embrace, she waited to see how she would feel about leaving him again and was surprised at the wistful nostalgia that filled her. Alistair was a fond memory — a rushing ride through emotions that she had never felt until she had met him and that she would never experience again.

“Before you go, can you tell me …” she started to ask and then stopped. But this information was vital to what they had been learning about the Grey Wardens, and she needed to know. It was why they had risked this trip to Denerim in the first place. “Have you been experiencing the Calling, Alistair? Have you felt any deeper connection to the darkspawn, or heard anything that seems like those horrible Archdemon dreams that we used to have in the Bannorn?”

Alistair shook his head. “I’m sleeping like the dead. But then again, I spend many of my evenings out in places like this, drinking with the kind of men that Anora finds less than suitable as companions for a king. It keeps me informed.”

She nodded at him. “Well, you know that I’m alive and that I can be found, after this is over, Alistair. If you need us, we can be here.” She squeezed him tightly for a moment and then stepped away from him, smiling gently while he pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head.

“I’ll always love you, Rhoane,” he whispered.

“Thank you, Alistair. Take care of your kingdom, your child, and … and your wife.”

He nodded, lifting a hand to reach toward her cheek. Smiling gently, she raised her own hand in farewell and took a step away from him, toward the door to her own bedchamber. Alistair opened the door to the hallway and then he was gone.

Rhoane exhaled deeply, letting the tension that had settled in her muscles sink out of her body, feeling her knees wobble when the sense of relief filled her. Reaching out, she steadied herself on the arm of the sofa and pressed one hand against her forehead. It has almost been too much, seeing Alistair after all this time, but she had endured it. It was behind her, and her future was waiting in her bedroom.

She walked to the door, opening it quietly so that she wouldn’t wake Leandra or Abelas if he had fallen asleep in the time that she had spent talking to Alistair. She was about to close the door equally as silently when it was pushed from her hands, slamming into the frame and clicking shut. Before she could turn in surprise, she was pressed against the wood by a lean body. Her husband, she realized, startled by the anger that she could feel vibrating through him. She tried to say something, but his hand came over her mouth, his palm slipping over her lips so that all she could do was make desperate noises to try to snap him out of his rage.

She remembered him being like this before — that day when they had discovered the picture of the eluvian in the mountains. Then she had been afraid, unwilling to let him simply take her as an expression of his fear for her. Today …

Maker’s breath, today was so different. There had been too few opportunities to be close to each other, and she had missed this fire, this burning that his touch created inside of her. She had been afraid that their passion for each other had dimmed, that perhaps all they had left between them was to be Leandra’s parents. Relief that she had been so very, very wrong left her limp, and he pressed himself even more tightly against her.

“You’re mine,” Abelas growled into her hair, his breath hot against her ear. “No one else can have you.”

She tried to nod, but he held her head firmly against the door. The hand that wasn’t holding her mouth closed roamed over her body, finally clutching one of her breasts and kneading it with desperate longing. His lips trailed across her cheek and chin, latching onto the curve of her throat, and she felt his teeth graze over her skin. She could feel his hard maleness pressing into her, its urgent throbbing sending an echo into her body and the moisture between her legs. Moaning against his palm, she wriggled between him and the door, trying to communicate to him without being able to say anything, but he was so lost in his pain and fear that he couldn’t understand.

His fingers wrapped around her shoulder and he turned her so that she was facing him, replacing his hand and crushing her mouth under his own. Letting her lips fall open, she thrust her tongue back against his when it invaded her mouth, lashing against the urgency of his kisses with her own driving need. Bringing her hands up to his biceps, she thought that she might try to push him away, but it only made him press her more tightly against the door. His own fingers wrapped around her wrists, and he brought them together in one hand above her head. Once he had her trapped, his free hand went to the ties that held her shirt together, ripping them away from the fabric. In the next instant, he had torn away the binding across her chest, exposing her breasts to the chill night air. She gasped against his mouth.

In response, he growled and released her lips, his free hand cupping her breast so that he could take the nipple between his teeth. The pull of his mouth was so different from the demand of baby when she was nursing, and she felt herself shiver through every nerve in her body. Writhing against the door, Rhoane trying to pull her hands from his grip, wanting desperately to wrap her fingers in his red-brown hair and keep his mouth where it was for hours and hours.

Abelas must have thought that she was trying to get away, because he lifted his head and swept her into his arms. After he carried her across the room, he dropped her in their bed, his body following her into the cushioning and trapping her there with arms and legs and hips. Because he had released her hands, she was able to bring her fingers up into his loose, long hair, her hands clenching reflexively with each throbbing pulse of her body under his. She could hear him gasp, and he levered himself to one side and stripped his shirt from his body, throwing it to the floor in one short motion. When his back was bare to her, her fingers trailed over the rows and rows of scars from the beatings that he had suffered, her nails pressing into the few smooth places that she was able to find. He gasped and moaned, digging his fingertips into the flesh of her hips through the fabric of her trousers, his lips moving greedily across her neck and breasts.

Closer, closer, she thought, writhing beneath him, longing for that moment when he would bring them together completely. Her fingers tugged at the waistband of his trousers, trying to push them over his hips, lingering on the scars that marred even these parts of his body. She could feel his hands between them, tugging the laces of their trousers open and dragging them from her body when he shifted his knees under him. Pressing her knees apart, he settled above her, his hands on either side of her face, his lips inches from her own.

“Say it,” he whispered hoarsely, his fingertips tightening for a brief instant, his voice desperate with the same longing that was raging through Rhoane’s body.

“I’m only yours,” she sobbed and felt him fill her. Frantically, she lifted her hips in response, straining against him until she found the pulse of his rhythm. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him tighter every time he moved toward her. When the first simmering vibrations of her climax started, she fastened her teeth on his arm, whimpering her fulfillment as softly as she could in fear that they would waken their daughter. She felt Abelas stiffen and shudder, his own gasps echoing in the glowing firelight.

She struggled to still her breathing, enjoying the crush of her husband’s body above her until he suddenly rolled away from her and sat up on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Even in the blissful glow that surrounded her, Rhoane knew that Abelas was hurting. And she knew that it was her job to soothe him.

“Do you expect me to beat you now?” she whispered, sitting up so that she could slip out of her clothing. She tossed them casually onto the floor, not caring enough in that moment to fold them neatly or even fetch her night clothes from her pack. Plumping her pillow, she settled on her side facing Abelas and studied his back in the flickering firelight.

“What?” he snapped in a low growl, turning to look over his shoulder toward her.

“The last time you treated me like this, you said that I should beat you.”

She could see him freeze in place, but the details of his expression were lost in the shadows that covered his face.

Abelas sighed. “I suppose it would only be right, that I should be turned out after I had been whipped. Many Minrathous mages have done so to their slaves.”

“Do Minrathous wives do that to their husbands?”

The silence that settled around them was broken only by the snapping of the logs on the fire. Even Leandra seemed to be soundly asleep, and Rhoane was grateful that her daughter hadn’t been awakened. Curling more tightly around herself, she waited patiently for Abelas to respond to her.

He sighed. “A Minrathous wife who was unhappy with her husband would have to be a better mage than he was to be in a position to act.”

“Well, I win there,” she said. “Don’t you live in fear of me?”

He choked on a laugh and turned to face her. “Of you, no.”

She sat up on the bed and placed her palm against his face. “I’m sorry that I made you uncertain of my love, Abelas. I don’t know how I can convince you that what I have with you is greater and deeper than anything that was ever between me and Alistair, but I will try. I can’t lose you.”

His arms swept around her, crushing her against his chest so that he could kiss her and then press her back among the pillows. This time, Abelas made love to her slowly and gently, his touch tender and his kisses lingering, but no less potent in their ability to stoke her fire for him. And when she sighed her fulfillment against his lips, he laughed in triumph and drove her over the edge again.

“Mine,” he whispered against her ear when he held her pillowed against his chest when he was finally satisfied.

“Yours,” Rhoane replied and drifted to sleep.


	21. Part Four • Chapter One • Kaaras

“Inquisitor, are you certain that this is the best avenue to pursue at this time?” Cullen asked from the other side of the huge wooden table in their war room. “After all, the Queen of Orlais’s ball is coming up shortly, and we have already committed you to attend.”

“It would not do at all for you to be seen as snubbing Her Majesty, Inquisitor,” Josephine said. “We still have so few supporters with any political power, and pleasing the Queen of the country to the west could improve our overall position in … well, in so many ways.”

Kaaras found himself studying the way that Josephine’s lips moved while she spoke, wondering for probably the thousandth time what they would feel like and how they would taste against his own. Shaking his head slightly, he looked back down at the map that was spread across the table, the little metal markers positioned in the places where their troops were active or where they needed to take action.

He heard Hissera speak behind him and turned to watch while she added to the argument.

“But if we can do this for the Grey Wardens,” she explained, using many of the words that they had discussed in the privacy of his room at the top of the keep, “we gain the support of a completely unallied fighting force. We won’t be siding with either of the opponents who are fighting in the Orlesian civil war or choosing with Orlais over Ferelden. The addition of the Grey Wardens — even if they can only provide minimal support — would keep us neutral as political players in Thedas.”

“The Inquisition is not about politics,” Cassandra, the dark-haired Seeker, said sternly. “We are the command of the Divine to secure the future of her Chantry and protect the Maker’s children.”

Leliana, the Inquisition’s spymaster, expressed an opposing viewpoint. “There is no way that we can not be involved in politics, Cassandra. We are creating an army that stands outside of the control of all of the heads of state. Eventually, they will come for us, and the only way that we will be able to survive is if we have enlisted the support of those same heads of state.”

Walking to his sister’s side, he grasped Hissera’s arm to get her attention and leaned close so that he could whisper in her ear. He only said one word, but he knew that she would understand.

“Hawke.” 

She turned back to the advisors ranged around the war table. “We own an obligation to the Champion of Kirkwall. She shared with us everything that she could to try to give us an advantage over Corypheus, and Kaaras —” She looked over at him, and he nodded solemnly. “Kaaras promised that we would help them. We all need to remember that the Grey Wardens have a deeper commitment to the people of Thedas. If they disappear from our world, we are laid bare to the depredations of the darkspawn. The Grey Wardens cannot be revived; they must be rescued from this threat.”

He looked around at his advisors, seeing all of their eyes on him and not on his sister. They waited expectantly, and he tried to keep his gaze from lingering on Josephine for longer than they did on the others. But it was so hard. There was something in those golden eyes, in the way that she would laugh and tuck the tendrils of her blue-black hair behind her ears. He quickly dropped his eyes to the table in front of him, brushing the tips of his fingers over the surface, wondering how it would feel to run his hands over her flesh.

It was too dangerous for him to involve himself with someone when he couldn’t be certain that he could even possibly survive to the next day. He shouldn’t even consider the risk that it would mean to her heart for him to say anything. But maybe, if she were willing …

He stopped himself. There would be time for this later.

“We leave at first light for Crestwood,” he said definitively, lifting his eyes from the tabletop and looking around the circle of his advisors again. They nodded when their gazes met his, stepping away from the table to reform in little groups as they exited the war room. He watched as Josephine walked toward the door with Leliana, their heads together over the ambassador’s clipboard, chattering in fast, low voices. Hissera slipped past them and into the hallway, looking back at him and smiling in a way that he could only call smug. He turned his back on the door and placed his hands on the table, leaning forward as if he were studying the map in front of him.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine said tentatively behind him. “I had another set of reports that … but I could … would you prefer if I just handle them?”

He shook his head, taking in a deep breath and silently reminding himself that there was no place for any of these emotions in the existence of a mage. Lifting his hands from the smooth wood, he turned quickly — too quickly — his elbow striking the edge of the clipboard that was in her hands. It tumbled to the floor, the candle that was always burning at the top of it snuffing out while it plummeted to the ground, the papers scattering across the stones. In an instant, he was on one knee, shuffling through the pages and immediately knowing that he had no clue what order they had originally had. Josephine fell to her knees beside him, reaching for the papers as quickly as he did. Their hands brushed, and he could feel the electric thrill that her flesh against his sent through him. Looking up, his eyes met hers, and he could see that she was as surprised by the sensation as he was.

This was the moment. He could risk saying something and see what could happen. Or he could remain silent — as he had for most of his life — and stay in his cocoon of safety and solitude.

But she took the opportunity away from him. Her fingers wrapped around his, and she squeezed his hand gently with her own. “Will you be back soon?” Josephine whispered to him, and he could see tears gathering in her lashes. “I … I’ll miss you while you are gone. As I have all the other times you have left.”

Lifting her hand, he pressed his lips against her knuckles. “As I have missed you, Josephine.” He laughed. “Of all the people I could have … have felt close to … I never would have believed that it could be you.”

She smiled shyly at him, her eyes locked to his. “I’m glad that it was. I certainly didn’t come to the Inquisition looking for …” She stopped, looking down at the floor beside her. A brilliant red flush raced up into her cheeks, and she reached up to tuck a long, curling lock of hair back behind one ear. “Looking for someone to feel close to,” she finished.

Gently pulling her hand from his, she shuffled her papers into a neater stack and rose to her feet. He noticed that her candle had rolled under the war table, and he reached out and picked it up. Standing, he walked to her side and slipped the taper into the little notch that held it. Channeling a tiny bit of his fire ability, he relit it and looked up into Josephine’s face, which was glowing both from the the candlelight and from her surprise at his assistance.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” she said softly.

He smiled at her, his eyes locked on the sheen of her coral-colored mouth. Without thinking, he brought his hand up to cup the side of her face and trace the pad of his thumb across the plump curve of her lower lip. He heard her gasp, and his eyes flew up to meet hers, seeing that rush of color stain her cheeks again. There was something completely adorable in the way that he could make her blush: after all, she was their ambassador, and she usually was so in control and proper. It would be a delightful challenge to try to do it more often.

He was about to see whether he could do it again when he heard his sister’s voice in the hallway leading to the war room. As if he had been burned, he dropped his hand from Josephine’s face and stepped back to the huge wooden table, turning so that he could lean against the edge and crossing his arms on his chest. He hoped he looked confident and in control — it certainly wasn’t what he was feeling, but if he could appear that way, it would be enough.

“Varric, I tried to tell you: this isn’t the time. He still had to consult …”

“Silence, the Inquisitor has been trapped in this room with all those stuffy …” The door opened and the dwarf barreled into the room, stopping short when he saw Kaaras and Josephine standing within a stride of each other. Varric looked between them, and the Qunari knew that the storyteller’s nimble mind leaped to the most outrageous conclusions that the dwarf could create. He kept his face still, but inwardly he sighed.

It might have been luck that his heart had been drawn to one of the other members of the Inquisition who was a master at hiding her emotions from prying eyes. Josephine turned to look over her shoulder, her expression haughty, almost as if she had been interrupted at an important point in her explanation. Hissera stopped short when she saw the look on the other woman’s face, but Varric breezed into the room, quickly resuming his chatter so that he could cover his own uncertainty.

“Ruffles! I would say that I’m surprised to find you here, too,” Varric said, “but you never shirk your duties, do you? Your sister’s told me that we’re off to Crestwood tomorrow, Inquisitor. Is that right? We’re finally going to help Hawke?”

Kaaras nodded and glanced over at the door when it opened, watching it close behind Josephine in the next moment. She was gone, and his chance had passed. He wanted to sigh in frustration or yank open the door and rush down the hall after her. Anything but stand here and answer Varric’s questions.

But he was a mage. Emotions should be kept hidden. Don’t make anyone who doesn’t have the power afraid of you or what you can do.

“Who said that you’re going?” Hissera said, jumping into the breach for him, as usual. He looked up and met her eyes, seeing her smirking back at him. Turning back to Varric, he let the two of them argue for a few minutes. She really was good at it — his sister — managing to counter every point and slight that the dwarf could come up with easily. But there was only so much that she could use in his defense, and she was beginning to run out of things to say that weren’t direct insults.

He stepped away from the table. “At first light,” he said, leaving them staring after him.


	22. Part Four • Chapter Two • Bethany Hawke

It was the cave. Or maybe it was the waiting — days now of not knowing whether the Inquisition would follow through on their commitment to come to meet them in the wilderness near Crestwood and help the Grey Wardens. Or maybe it was that musty smell that simply wouldn’t go away and that seemed to seep into their clothing and their bedding. And her hair. It was worst when she could smell it in her hair.

It sent her reeling through the entrance again, her stomach clenching and roiling until she was able to draw in deep breaths of rain-drenched air. Turning her face toward the sky, she let the dripping runoff slide across her face, focusing on the cool relief that the water provided from the overwhelming stuffiness of the cave behind her. When her belly had settled to a simple swirling, she stepped back toward the opening and sat down on a rock. She breathed in deeply and wiped the moisture from her face on the sleeve of her tunic.

“What’s going on?” Jaya asked, coming to stand beside her. Rhoane followed with Leandra on her hip and looked at her with a concerned little frown on her face.

“It’s nothing,” Bethany lied, pressing one of her hands against her abdomen. “There’s just something about the smell in there that gets to me.”

“I’m sorry this meeting hasn't happened by now,” Hawke said, walking to the other side of the opening. “I hadn’t expected that it would take so long for the Inquisition to come here, especially considering that rift over the lake.”

Bethany shook her head. “You can’t make the Inquisitor give us his time, Sister. Besides, I’ll be better in a little while. It’s just when I wake up these days.”

Rhoane set Leandra down on the dry sand just inside the cave and let the little girl stand holding on to two of her fingers. “Have you had anything to break your fast, Bethany?” her eldest sister asked, following her daughter while she walked. “Some tea or a biscuit.”

Bethany groaned. Just the thought of putting something into the swirling in the center of her body was enough to start the nausea roiling again. She shook her head and looked out at the rain-washed stones in front of the cave, trying to find something that could stop the swooping spin in her stomach.

“I could bring something out to you,” Rhoane said, “so that you don’t have to deal with the smell.”

Nodding, Bethany opened her arms to Leandra, who toddled toward her, three, then four steps. She caught the little girl before she could fall or sit down and scooped her up into her arms. The little girl laughed and babbled the syllable “ma” over and over again.

When Rhoane returned, she walked up to her and extended a cup and a dry biscuit, smiling gently in her direction for some reason. Probably because of what Leandra was doing, Bethany thought, accepting the bread from her sister and breaking off a piece to offer it to her niece.

“Has she said anything that sounds like a real word yet?” Jaya asked, looking over at the two of them.

Rhoane laughed and took her daughter from her sister, letting her slide back down to practice her walking again. “Abelas is certain that she called him ‘Dada’ yesterday, but I wasn’t going to agree with him.”

Jaya frowned. “Why not?”

Bethany saw her eldest sister look over at the Champion of Kirkwall. “You want me to admit that my sweet little girl loves her father more than she loves me? Don’t be silly.”

“That’s ridiculous. She doesn’t choose.”

Bethany smiled. “Of course not, Jaya. We’re just teasing.”

It made her feel better to focus on laughing at her sister rather than the feeling in her stomach. “‘Ma’ almost sounds like, ‘ja,’ Sister. Maybe it’s you she loves the most.”

Hawke scoffed at the idea and looked out into the rain. “I just wish that this was all over …” Jaya said and walked back into the cave. Bethany watched her go, taking in another deep breath. The little biscuit that Rhoane had brought her seemed to have helped her stomach, and she was able to sip at the tea in her metal cup. Her sister looked over at her, still following her daughter while she padded around on the dry sand. Bethany rose from the rock that she was sitting on and looked out across the meadow in front of her.

“How much longer do we wait?” she said in a low voice. “We can’t even be sure that the Inquisitor is coming, and …” She stopped and sighed deeply, grateful that the swirling didn’t start in her stomach again. “It’s hard for me to see the people suffering as they are here.”

“Between the bandits and the dead rising to threaten the inhabitants,” Rhoane replied, “I’m surprised that there are still people living in the area.”

“This is their home,” she said, stepping closer to the dripping edge of the cave mouth, seeing the clouds starting to thin in the distance. The rain had become a gentle mist that was lessening even while she stared at the streaks of brilliant light that slipped through openings where she could just barely glimpse the blue of the sky. A sky that wasn’t marred by a swirling green storm of wrongness that spit out demons at random moments. The sky the way that it should be.

“Do you wonder whether it’s our responsibility to protect those who cannot take action themselves?” her sister said, coming up to stand beside her with Leandra on her hip.

Bethany shook her head. “No, I know that our place — as Grey Wardens — should be to protect people from the darkspawn. We have to continually be on our guard and searching for the places where the corruption has spread and threatens real lives. And I know that this danger that Stroud is beginning to explore has affected many, many more members of the Order than we had expected." Looking over her shoulder, she stared into the darkness of the cave. "Maybe that’s what Jaya feels, too.”

Rhoane agreed softly and snaked an arm around her sister’s waist. “As usual, we will do the best that we can, but this may not be the best place for us to use our talents. I think that we agreed to let the Inquisitor decide that.”

Bethany nodded toward the shadowy recesses of the cave. “I really don’t think that I want to go back in there. It … it isn’t going to smell any different, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” her sister said. “And you don’t need to be there.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know where you expect me go, then. I can’t go in and be with my family, and I don’t have any place to be in this Maker-forsaken wilderness.”

“I have an idea, Sunshine. Why don’t we take a little walk and get all caught up on your adventures as a Grey Warden?”

Stepping out of her sister’s embrace, Bethany turned back toward the meadow and found Varric standing behind her with his arms folded on his chest. Other people, ones that she could only assume were members of the Inquisition, followed the dwarf around the outcropping of rock that divided the cave entrance from the meadow in front of it. She could see two Qunari — one of which had to be the Inquisitor — lots of armor and weapons, humans, elves, and another Qunari warrior. Studying them with what she hoped they all thought were casual eyes, she stepped closer to her sister and accepted Leandra from her.

“I’ll go get Jaya,” Rhoane said, walking into the cave. Bethany expected her niece to start crying when she saw her mother leave, but Leandra was leaning out of her arms toward the male Qunari, reaching toward him and opening and closing her hands. He walked up to Bethany and looked questioningly at her. When she shrugged, he took the baby into his arms, lifting her so that she could touch his horns and patiently letting her tug at his long ears. A dark-haired woman walked up to the Inquisitor, the sword at her side catching a ray of the patchy sunlight and glinting bright silver.

“Let me relieve you of that, Inquisitor,” she said in a thick Nevarran accent. “Or give her back to this woman. There is no need for you to play nursemaid.”

Bethany saw a deep frown press between the Qunari’s eyebrows. “What else do we fight for?” he asked in a low, calm voice.

Bethany saw an expression of shock cross the woman’s face and quickly afterward the warrior moved away from the Inquisitor’s side. Leandra started to babble, saying something that sounded like “ka-ka-ka” to her, but she couldn’t be sure. The female Qunari walked up to the Inquisitor and reached out a hand to the little girl, who grabbed it and started pulling it toward her mouth.

“It’s remarkable, Kaaras,” the female said, “but I think she remembers you. Did we tell her your name? It sounds like she’s saying your name.”

“At least it’s not ‘no,’” Bethany said. “That’s usually all she says to anyone. I’m Bethany, by the way. Hawke’s sister and a Grey Warden.”

“Then this information directly affects you,” the female said quickly. “I’m Hissera, and this is my brother, Kaaras. He’s the Inquisitor.”

“I’d guessed. Quite an entourage you travel with.”

Hissera rolled her eyes. “We don’t exactly sneak through the wilderness any more.”

“Inquisitor,” Jaya said from the opening of the cave, and Bethany could see the shadow of pleasure slip away from the Qunari mage’s face. It was subtle, but as a mage, she had had the same kinds of moments — when she had been forced to mask her own feelings so that other people could feel more comfortable. She was not nearly as skilled at it as this mage was, but she knew why he did it.

“Hawke,” the Inquisitor replied, turning his head away from Leandra’s hands, which were trying to cover his eyes. Rhoane walked up to him and took her daughter into her arms.

“The Qunari mage from the forest,” her eldest sister said, smiling up at Kaaras.

“The mage from the forest,” the Inquisitor said, smiling at her sister. Bethany frowned. There was something here that she was missing, but it wasn’t the time to ask about it. She saw that Fenris and Abelas had also exited the cave, which left only Stroud inside. Taking a deep breath, she walked between the rocks and into the dim shadows of the cave. For some reason, the smell wasn’t as bad now, and she was able to wait, speaking softly with Stroud, until she saw movement along the path that led to the entrance.

Leaving the Warden Lieutenant’s side, she silently monitored his conversation with the Inquisitor, but there wasn’t anything new in the information that he shared with the mage. They had known for weeks that the Grey Wardens were hearing what some of them referred to as “the Calling,” but neither Stroud nor Rhoane — both of whom had been in the Order longer than she had — had even an inkling of hearing the same thing themselves. They had learned that large groups of Grey Wardens were moving to the western edges of Orlais, to an area in the Western Approach in part of the land that had been so tainted by the taint of the darkspawn that it was little more than a desert wasteland today. Stroud laid his case before the Inquisitor dispassionately, but Bethany could hear the undertone of fear and rage in his voice. Something was happening to the men and women who had been under his command, whom he had trained from their first moments after drinking the darkspawn blood in the Joining ceremony. He didn’t know what was happening to them, and it made him angry.

Bethany understood, but she couldn’t feel the same way. She was curious as to what was going on, true; but she couldn’t feel upset about the end of the Grey Wardens. Rhoane had already made it clear to them that there wouldn’t be any more darkspawn outbreaks due to the call of the Old Gods. And the Order had been a last resort for Jaya anyway: if she could have lived without going through the Joining ceremony, they all would have gone home and lived together in their mother’s family estate. Happily ever after. If the Grey Wardens had outlived their usefulness, she was ready to see them take their place in the history of Thedas.

“We’ll scout the Western Approach for you, then, Inquisitor,” Stroud was saying. “When you arrive, we will have as much information as is possible for you.”

Bethany sighed gratefully. It was finally time to leave this stinking cave.


	23. Part Four • Chapter Three • Fenris

He saw her stumbling down the causeway that led away from what had once been a bandit’s fort until finally Hawke tripped through the gateway and fell to her knees in the sand. Her stomach heaved, and the scraps of breakfast that she had managed to consume spilled across the dirt between her hands. While she spit the last of the bitter taste from her mouth, she rose to her feet, dragging the back of one hand across her mouth.

“Hawke?” Fenris went to her side almost instinctively, one hand reaching out to take her arm and lead her away from the entrance to the fort causeway. She shut out the view of the yellow-brown expanses of the Western Approach, trusting him to keep her safe and following instinctively as he guided her. When he stopped, she opened her eyes and accepted the skin of water that he held out to her, taking a drink and spitting in out onto the desiccated foliage at her feet. He hoped that she would be able to keep a mouthful in her body when she took another swallow, and he watched her face, waiting for her to report.

“It’s too much,” she said despairingly. “Maker’s breath, it’s too much.”

Rhoane came up beside them, her face filled with concern. “What is it?” she asked. “Can you tell us what was going on in there?”

Turning away from him, Hawke took a few long strides across the desert, stopping on a rocky outcrop that fell away abruptly at the tips of her toes. Fenris could see that she had wrapped her arms around her body as if she could hold in the emotions that were racing through her right now. He ached for her, longed to hold her in his arms and kiss away the pain and fear. Or find the thing that had frightened her and rip its beating heart from its body. That would be equally satisfying.

But there was nothing that he could do until she told them what they had found.

He said “they,” because Stroud, the Inquisitor, and some of the members of his Inquisition were still inside the bandit fort. He and many of the people he now considered his family had been asked to remain behind until the others returned to them. Waiting had put them all on edge, but now they knew that at least some of them had survived. He took a small step toward Hawke, barely holding himself back from lifting his hand toward her and then turned away again. There was nothing he could say or do that would help her during this struggle. All he could do was wait.

But her sisters couldn’t or wouldn’t wait. Bethany rushed up to Hawke and wrapped one of her hands around the Champion of Kirkwall’s arm. “Where’s Stroud?” she asked anxiously. “What happened to him?”

“He’s consulting with the Inquisitor,” Hawke said in a low, tense voice. “The Grey Wardens … they …”

“What?” Rhoane insisted. “Maker’s breath, Jaya, you must tell us!”

“Must I?” Hawke snapped back. “Must I tell you that the Grey Wardens are doomed if all of Thedas finds out what they have been doing here? Must I say that they’re doing all of it willingly? That they’ve chosen what is happening to them? Because it’s tearing me apart to know that people that my family had respected and trusted have completely betrayed them in every possible way.”

The sisters stilled, dismay filling both of their faces. “What have they done?” Rhoane whispered.

Hawke moaned. “They were allowing themselves to be turned into abominations. A Venatori magister and Corypheus’s representative, Livius Erimond, had convinced them that they could take the offensive into the Deep Roads and rid Thedas of the darkspawn once and for all.”

“What?” Bethany gasped. “But that’s impossible. We have only the most basic idea of where the darkspawn come from or why they even exist.”

“Maker’s breath, Bethany,” Jaya exploded. “That’s all you heard me say? They’re choosing to be turned into abominations! They’re inviting demons to possess them, thinking that there is some way in all the world that you can control that demon once it’s inside of a human form. They … they’re making it happen to them. By choice!”

Fenris could give Bethany some credit: she didn’t back down in the face of her sister’s anger. And she refrained from trying to use words to make Hawke think, feel, or react in another way. She stood in the face of Jaya’s raging wrath and despair and let it wash around her, like a stone in the tide. And there was no way for the girl to have responded anyway. Hawke’s rage couldn’t be held in or expressed in a few carefully selected words.

“Do they never learn? Don’t they see that all their power just makes them tools of something that it’s impossible to control? Don’t they know that each and every one of them will have that moment of temptation? And they will all succumb. They always do. Haven’t they learned from Kirkwall? Didn’t blowing up an entire Chantry filled with innocent people teach them? Didn’t they learn from the First Enchanter there? From this stupid war? Haven’t they learned …” her voice caught on a sob, “from the madman who took our mother’s life to resurrect his dead wife?”

Bethany tried to say something, but Hawke simply plowed. “They always do this. They think that they’re better … stronger … smarter … and they’re not. They are weak-willed and ignorant of everything that they think is truth. They fail. Time and again, all mages fail.” Whirling to face her sisters, she snapped directly at them. “You fail!”

Fenris wanted to move then, but the look of stunned hurt on Bethany’s face kept him frozen in place. Neither she nor Rhoane said anything, and Hawke stormed off across the yellow-brown wilderness, little puffs of sand rising up behind her, only to be whisked away by the wind that whipped across the desert. He silently wished that Jaya’s wrath could disappear as easily as the dust, but he knew that it was impossible. And that he had no idea what to do.

Honestly, he had never known what to do to comfort Hawke when she was in pain. It was one of the things that had driven a wedge between them in Kirkwall, even after they had made love for the first time. When her mother had been killed, he had been helpless to soothe her, and he had failed to offer her any kind of comfort. Even now, years later, he hadn’t been able to do anything to ease the tense discomfort that she had lived with during the last months. All he had been able to do was hold her when she had woken in the middle of the night, sweat streaming from her trim body, her breath gasping in and out of her lungs.

It may have been enough then. It wasn’t now.

Unable to bear the hurt on Bethany’s face, he looked over at Rhoane. But it was even harder to see the look of deep understanding on the Hero of Ferelden’s face. He was surprised by her attitude; after all, she was a mage, too, and Jaya had denied the self-control and intelligence of all those who could wield magic. That her sister — the one that she hadn’t even known of until recently — could in one moment understand the threads that knit together to cause Jaya pain … it was almost beyond his comprehension. This woman had suffered so much loss, basically from the moment that she had shown her power as a mage, and yet she could sympathize with someone who had told her to her face that she could never be trusted.

“Fenris.”

He was still trying to puzzle through the reactions of Hawke’s sisters when he heard someone desperately whispering his name. He brought his focus first to Bethany’s face, but the tears streaming down her cheeks made him look away almost immediately. Turning to Rhoane, he saw her hand extended toward him and took a tentative step in her direction.

“You have to go to her,” the Hero of Ferelden said to him.

Shaking his head, he dropped his eyes to her outstretched hand, but he could still see the pleading in that simple gesture. “I can’t. I’ve never been able to comfort her.”

Rhoane walked to him, forcing him to meet her eyes. There was anger in those eyes now — at him, probably — and he looked back into them reluctantly, knowing that she was going to speak the truth to him. And he wouldn’t want to hear it.

“You’re the only one who can, Fenris,” she said in an urgent whisper. “It’s beyond anything that Bethany and I can do. Her pain. She can only share it with someone who has felt the same kind of betrayal from people who should have taken care of her … or him.”

He inhaled sharply, studying her eyes. “How can you do it?” he said softly. “Forgive her? She just told you to your face that she can never trust you. And yet you want to send me to comfort her and bring her back somehow. Why?”

She shrugged. “Because I know she doesn’t mean it. She’s lost in this moment of despair, and she can’t see a way out. And honestly, there probably isn’t one.” Rhoane smirked at him. “But at she needs to know that there’s someone there to lead her home. And that there’s a home for her to come to.”

Blowing out a deep breath, he nodded and started in the same direction that Hawke had taken. Before he had moved too many steps, he looked behind him and saw Stroud with his arms around Bethany, her head tucked against his shoulder. Abelas and Leandra had joined Rhoane, and they all seemed to be gathering themselves to go to talk to the Inquisitor and the other members of his group. Except for the female Qunari warrior, they were a different bunch than the ones who had come to them in the cave near Crestwood, and he nodded at the two Qunari in passing. But he didn’t have any time or emotion to spare for the Inquisition. He had to find Hawke.

She was standing near the edge of the Abyss, the far edge of the Western Approach. Stroud had told them that it was caused by a shattering of the earth that had allowed the darkspawn to spill across the landscape and taint it completely with their foulness. The earth had never recovered, and the huge hole was a reminder of the destruction that those creatures were truly able to make. Walking up beside her, he looked down into the vast crevasse, not really seeing the black scar that reached into the depths of the earth. He could feel the void pulling him, daring him to take just one step forward.

But he knew there was nothing for him there in the darkness. His future was here, with the woman at his side.

“How does it feel,” she asked, the bitterness coating every word that spilled from her mouth, “to know that you were always right? That it would have been better if we had simply dedicated our lives to killing all of them? Every last mage, turned to so much blood and broken bone?”

“I was never right, Hawke,” he said softly, pitching his voice so that she would have to lean closer to him to hear what he said. “I was angry. In pain. Hurting from the process that bound the lyrium into my body and wiped away my memory. But I was never right.”

“But they choose it, Fenris.” Jaya turned to him, her eyes pleading for him to join her in her rage so that she would not feel so alone in the twist of her emotions. “They asked the demons in, for something that their commanders were calling a ‘greater good.’ They were asked to give themselves to a lie. And that … that could have been Bethany in there.”

“Or Rhoane,” he agreed gently.

“I could …” she gasped, and he saw tears start across her cheeks. “I could have lost both of them.”

He opened his arms to her, and she started sobbing, walking into his embrace and dropping her head against his shoulder. Stroking his hand along her spine, he murmured to her, inane little things that sprang into his head and soft sounds. For long, long minutes, it didn’t seem to help, and he could feel her cries racking through her entire body. Eventually, her sobbing eased, and he felt her lift her head from his shoulder.

“You’re really not very comforting, you know,” she said on a hiccoughing laugh. “Not in all this spiky armor.”

“Perhaps, but I’m all you’ve got. Except for your sisters. They’re both as willing to help you as I am.”

She laughed again. “Bethany probably wants to kill me. I … I’ve never said anything so cruel to her about her being a mage. Except about Father spending more time with her than me and Carver. Did she send you after me?”

“No, Jaya, it was Rhoane. She …” He paused and looked out into the chasm again. “She knew that I was the only one who could understand your wrath against the actions of the mages. She knew that you needed me.”

Hawke dropped her head against his neck again, and he could feel her nod. “What do I do now, Fenris?”

“Let your sisters forgive you,” he said gently. “And bring the people responsible for this black mark against the Grey Wardens to justice.”

He remembered those words weeks later, when she stood with the Inquisition army, preparing to attack the members of the Order who had taken Adamant Keep for their own. All of them, except for Stroud and Hawke, had been asked to remain on patrol of the outlying desert around the Keep in case there was any effort to reinforce the Grey Warden forces or another threat rose that they were unprepared to handle. In the time that had passed, he had watched Rhoane and Bethany repair their relationship with Jaya. It had been a slow process, but they had all been willing to make the effort. He couldn’t say that Hawke had been sleeping any better, but she seemed more secure in their family. He had seen her smiling and laughing more often around their campfires, and she had been warm and gentle with him in their tent at night. Even last night, when he had pulled her against him in the darkness, there had been a wistful longing in their joining that he couldn’t remember feeling before.

She stepped over to his side, pressing her shoulder against his in an affectionate gesture. She looked over at Bethany, who was talking with Stroud, who had the back of one of his hands pressed against her forehead. The young Grey Warden had continued to be bothered by upset stomach and vomiting, even after they had left the musty, damp of the cave near Crestwood. He knew that Hawke was worried about it, but he wasn’t certain whether she had spoken with her younger sister about it yet.

Rhoane walked up to them, reaching out to place one hand on Jaya’s arm. Before she could say anything, the Champion of Kirkwall asked, “Is Bethany still ill? I had thought she was better. At least it seemed to be happening less often.”

Her eldest sister glanced over at the two other Grey Wardens and smiled gently. “She has been better, but I think the stress of this day got to her. I estimate that she only has another few weeks of this before she starts feeling much, much better.”

“Better? What are you talking about, Rhoane?”

Fenris saw a look of surprise cross the Hero of Ferelden’s face. “You mean you haven’t figured it out by now, Jaya? Of course, I don’t know whether Bethany’s even aware …”

“Rhoane, I’m too focused on this operation to want to play at puzzles with you. What are you talking about?”

A bright smile spread across her sister’s face. “She’s pregnant.”

“By the Maker!” A look of shocked surprise crossed Hawke’s face. “I … I didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter, except that I hope it encourages you to be more careful, Jaya,” Rhoane said tensely. “We need you to help us get back home, Sister.”

With that, she walked over to where Abelas and Leandra were waiting for her, and Fenris — remembering the wistfulness of their lovemaking the night before — pulled her into his arms and crushed her lips under his.

“Return to me, Jaya,” he whispered against her hair when had lifted his mouth from hers.

Lifting her hand, she pressed it to the side of his face and nodded. And then she was gone, striding across the desert to where the Inquisitor was waiting for her.


	24. Part Four • Chapter Four • Jaya Hawke

She was only slowly aware of the fact that she was lying on the ground, but the feeling of earth beneath her was so different from the evenings spent in tents that she had a hard time determining which direction would take her upright. There was also something … unstable … about the ground, and that uneasiness in her position made it even harder for her to open her eyes and rise to her feet. But lying around wasn’t going to solve anything, she told herself.

When she had lifted her lids, she could see the green-gray landscape of the Fade.

Jaya groaned and closed her eyes again. It was the last place that she wanted to be right now, but she decided that being anywhere was better than being dead. Because that had been the trajectory of her existence only a few short moments ago. Or had it been longer? In the Fade, there was no way to know.

The assault on Adamant Fortress had gone better than any of them could have expected, especially when they knew they were taking on a group of Grey Wardens, who were used to the idea of giving their lives for tenets of their order. And then there were the ones who had allowed themselves to be turned into abominations. If she were honest with herself, she had butchered them with an uninhibited glee, grateful that she had eliminated their twisted wrongness from Thedas. The Inquisitor and his warriors had struggled forward, destroying the pockets of resistance that they encountered on the way, strafed in odd moments when they had emerged from cover by the purple-black fire of Corypheus’s dragon. In the end, Warden Commander Clarel had given her life so that the magister’s representative could be incapacitated.

But in that process, the stone balcony that they had been standing on had collapsed, sending her and Stroud, the Inquisitor and all the members of his little group plummeting toward the sand and rock below. Somehow, they had — missed — the earth and had pierced the Veil, ending up in the Fade. She assumed that the presence of the Inquisitor had something to do with that result, but she truly didn’t want to speculate further. Instead, she pushed herself to her hands and knees and looked around.

Stroud was lying on his side a few feet from her, his eyes still closed, but she could see the riffling of his mustache when he breathed steadily in and out. She crawled across the uneven terrain toward him, wrapping her fingers in his Grey Warden tunic and using it to shake him until his eyes opened. He quickly focused on her and nodded to show that there was nothing wrong with him physically. Hawke rose to her feet and extended a hand to help him up, looking around to try to locate the rest of the people who must have been transported to the Fade.

“Hawke!” Varric called, trotting over to her side. “Of all the places for a dwarf to end up! If I’m not welcome in the Fade when I’m sleeping, why should I be any more welcome when I’m awake and alive?”

She shrugged at the dwarf and followed him until they found Kaaras and his sister with some of the other members of the Inquisition. The Qunari nodded at her, and they started across the grey-green landscape that appeared to be made up of crumbling ruins and swampy marshes. She felt that she had seen ruins like the ones that surrounded them in the real world, but she couldn’t precisely put her finger on where or when. Instead, she trailed along after the Inquisitor, unable to offer advice or guidance, impatient to be gone from this place, wielding her axes when it was necessary to protect herself or anyone else around her.

Eventually, they found a spirit — the spirit — who had helped the Inquisitor escape from the Fade after the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Half-heartedly, she accused the Grey Wardens of being at fault for all the destruction and the death of the Divine, but too much of her mind told her that it was her own fault, her failure for not having killed Corypheus in the first place. While Stroud frowned at her, she argued with herself, never reaching the resolution that she felt that she truly needed.

Through interactions with the glowing being, they discovered that they were in the realm of the Nightmare and that it had not been Andraste who had pushed Kaaras back into the real world, but it might have been the spirit of the Divine. Or a spirit who had taken on her image and ambitions. Only the Maker knew what the truth was.

Or maybe he didn’t. If he had truly abandoned his creation, he had abandoned them here in the Fade, too.

The thought didn’t haunt Hawke as much as it might once have. Somehow, after all her years and everything that had happened to her, she couldn’t concern herself with the attention of an absent father-figure. She was the one in charge of her decisions and the direction of her life. She would celebrate them or suffer from them exactly as she deserved.

For some reason, it made her think of the Grey Wardens, standing in a circle in Adamant Fortress, their faces filled with despairing resolution to do one last thing to save Thedas from the darkspawn. They had all believed that they were making a decision that would serve others, that would keep everyday people from the poison of the darkspawn taint and the destruction that their roving bands of marauders could wreak. Every train of thought that they had pursued had led them to the conclusion that allowing demons to possess them was for the greater good. By sacrificing themselves, the regular people of Thedas — the farmers and seamstresses and merchants — they could be protected from the loss and suffering that the Grey Wardens accepted as a way of life from the moment they drank from the chalice of darkspawn blood at the Joining.

“Hawke!” Stroud said sharply, reaching out to take hold of her arm. “We’ve been warned to be aware. You can’t wool-gather like that.”

“Sorry,” she said, pulling her arm from his grasp. She took a few steps forward and then turned to look at him. “Why did you do it, Stroud? Join the Grey Wardens, I mean. You know that I forced Bethany into the Joining, to save her life. Did you choose it?”

He shook his head and looked into the misty distance. “Strangely enough, I was recruited to save my life, too. I had just graduated from the chevalier’s academy when my family was killed. All of them. When they came to tell me, the officials said that it had been a bandit attack, but they lied. The Great Game of Orlais took my family, and I was determined to bring those who had taken them from me to justice. I would have done anything, sacrificed anyone — including myself — to see their blood pooling at my feet. And then a Grey Warden came and convinced me that there was a better way.”

His eyes met hers for a moment, and Hawke found that she had to look away. There it was again: the Grey Wardens would let you find another way to live and become a different person. It was beyond the survival that she had found for Bethany; it was a kind of redemption from a life that might otherwise end in sorrow. It was hope for those who had sunk into the depths of hopelessness. 

She started walking again, following the Inquisitor while he trailed after the glowing spirit that had said that it could lead them to some kind of exit. Stroud fell in beside her, and she could feel him studying her face in moments when he didn’t have to concentrate on his footing.

“But isn’t it just another kind of trap? The Order, I mean. You’re accepted into this life, and then you live with the fact that you’re going to die? Before most men will?”

“For a man who sees nothing except death in his future, it does not seem that way at all.”

“But they trick you. From the very beginning,” she argued, trying to stoke her anger against the men and women who had failed so miserably at Adamant Fortress. “They lure people in with the glorious reputation of the Grey Wardens, the only barrier between the world and the darkspawn. They don’t tell you that you’re going to die from the very act of becoming a Warden.”

Stroud sighed. “There can be a kind of inevitability … a destiny … in becoming a Grey Warden. Most men who survive the Joining begin to understand that they have been given a purpose for their life. Something more than what they had been pursuing for more selfish reasons.”

“Redemption,” Jaya said.

“For every man and woman who is ready or able to accept it,” he agreed firmly.

“And they just took that away from everyone.” Now the rage came easily to her, thrumming in her veins and driving her need to take action. “Those bastards at Adamant stole all the dignity and purpose of the Grey Wardens. From this day forward, every action that the Order takes will be questioned, suspect. Because they believed in a lie, a hope that was too good to be true, but too true not to be possible. Maker’s breath, how could they not have believed it?”

Stroud didn’t say anything for a long moment, and she saw him finally shrug. “How indeed? They put their faith in a liar who would have enslaved them all to Corypheus, because the Calling that they had all felt convinced them that another Blight was imminent.”

The anger roiled in her stomach, making her take crazy risks when they faced more demons in the Fade. They battled onward, until at last they could see the glowing of the doorway that would lead them all back to their real world, their real lives, their family. She looked over at Stroud, smiling hopefully at him.

“Hawke,” Stroud said, “no matter the rank that I have gained in the Grey Wardens or the responsibilities for my fellows that they have given me, they cannot compare to what Bethany has brought into my life.”

She suddenly remembered the conversation that she had had with Rhoane — had it only been that morning? “You need to tell the Order that she died at Adamant. That she was with you, as your junior Warden, and that she didn’t survive. Promise me.”

A startled look crossed his face. “But why? We know that she is safe.”

“She’s pregnant, Stroud. That’s what Rhoane says, and she seems to be our only expert on these things left in the family. When we get out of this, she has to go home.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, “I agree.”

And then there was no time for conversation, only for battle. The glowing entity claiming to be the Divine led them into a rocky area with a central platform that seemed almost like an ancient altar. On it stood a demon, taller than a Qunari, with two human-like arms and six spider legs sprouting from its back. As if that wasn’t enough, over its shoulder loomed the Nightmare, a flesh-colored spider with hundreds of eyes all over its body and legs, a gaping orifice opening and closing on its underside, as tall as a mountain and equally as wide. Hawke tightened her grip on her axes and waited for the Inquisitor to give the command to attack.

Instead, the glowing spirit flew away before them, rising quickly into the face of the Nightmare and drawing it away from them. Kaaras signaled them forward, and they all raced toward the tall demon — the Aspect of the Nightmare — and attacked.

Hawke danced among her fellow warriors, her axes sinking into demon flesh whenever she was within range. She tried to stay focused on attacking the Aspect of the Nightmare, but it kept calling in reinforcements — smaller, spider-like representations of the Nightmare itself, which would overwhelm them if they weren’t careful. The battle stretched on, her arms screaming from the hacking motion that she repeated time and again, her legs wobbling under her from the need to leap and then leap again to save herself from the attacks of the spider demons and the Aspect of the Nightmare.

But at last, the demon disappeared in a green-black mist. The members of the Inquisition started toward the opening that led to their real world, Kaaras remaining in the rear to be certain that everyone had cleared the portal. The three of them raced toward the opening, eager to be home …

When a giant, fleshy leg landed on the stone in front of them.

She and Stroud skidded to a halt, watching while the Inquisitor tried to wave them on toward the opening. When he turned around and saw the Nightmare, he stepped back beside them, staring up into the face of the gathered fears of everyone who had ever had a dream in the Fade. It feinted toward them, long strings of saliva dripping from its mouth, its eyes gleaming at them.

“We need to find an opening,” Stroud shouted. “Go, and I’ll cover you.”

Hawke ignored him, pushing the Inquisitor forward and flying toward the Nightmare’s legs on the opposite side of the stony opening from the portal to the real world. “Remember your promise,” she screamed back at Stroud, lifting one axe and sinking it deep into the flesh of the Nightmare. The creature lifted its leg out of her reach, but she was already moving toward the next leg, farther from the portal, away from the shrinking forms of the Inquisitor and Stroud. She hefted her axe again and let if fall, feeling a moment of satisfaction when the Nightmare screeched above her.

“For my sisters!” Hawke screamed, rolling to one side and coming up on on knee. In the distance, she saw the portal wink out of sight in a brief flash of brilliance, and she let her breath out in one harsh exhalation. One of the creature’s legs came toward her, skimming over the uneven earth of the Fade, kicking up rocks and dust where it touched the ground. She hopped to her feet and scurried into the protection of a rocky outcropping.

All for a lie, she thought, the anger churning in her again. The reputation of the Grey Wardens destroyed. The lives of good people shattered. The souls of the Grey Warden mages who had chosen to be turned into abominations tarnished for eternity. For a lie. It was dishonest. It was unforgivable. It was evil.

It was unjust.

That was it. In all of this mess, she knew that she had to find a way to redeem the unredeemable — to save the Grey Wardens from themselves. Somehow, she had to give them the one thing that no person ever hearing the story of what had happened Adamant Fortress would be able to give the Order. There was only one thing that could save them now.

She clambered up on top of the rocks in front of her and looked up at the Nightmare. Its hundred eyes stared back at her, and she wondered whether she had imagined that the saliva dripping from its mouth had started to flow a little faster. Taking a deep breath, she tightened her muscles for the leap that she had to make and screamed at the top of her lungs, flying back into the fray, her axes flashing in the dull green mist of the Fade.

“Justice!” she screamed.


	25. Part Four • Chapter Five • Hissera

“Hurry!” she called to her brother, trying to speed his flight through the portal by waving her hand anxiously at him from the other side. When he spilled through the opening, she caught him in her arms, helping him to rise and turning him back toward the misty green glow.

“Close it now,” she ordered him. “The spirit told you that you have to close it immediately. And you don’t want … that … loose in Thedas, do you?”

“I can’t,” Kaaras gasped. “I have to give her a chance.”

Hissera looked around at the people who had escaped from the Fade, only slowly realizing that there was one less among their numbers. One. It wasn’t enough.

“No,” she argued forcefully. “You can’t wait. Close it now. Or let the Nightmare free to spread its evil in the waking world.”

She could see the despair in her brother’s face, which was just as quickly shuttered closed to all emotion. Spreading his feet to keep his balance on the uneven pavement, he slowly lifted his hand and let the power of the Anchor reach out toward the Fade, drawing the energy from the opening and shrinking it until it disappeared from sight. When it was gone, he turned his back on the place where it had been and walked away.

“Where’s Hawke?” Varric asked in a loud voice while he picked himself up off the paving stones.

Kaaras didn’t stop, and he didn’t respond. Hissera watched him continue to move forward, as if it was the only thing keeping him alive.

And maybe it was. If he stopped and thought about what he had lost, he might become lost himself.

She followed him, leaving the Inquisition to sort itself out, tailing him out to the battlements of the Fortress. While she watched, he climbed up onto the railing that surrounded the upper walkway, one hand pressed onto the stone of a vertical support tower, the other one — the one with the mark on it — clenched into a tight fist at his side. Without a second thought, she hopped up beside him, her arms crossed on her chest, trusting her sense of balance to keep her from falling.

“Are we jumping again? Because I don’t think it worked out so good for us the last time.”

“If I thought I could be in time to save her, I would,” he whispered back. “If I thought that it would stop the war between the mages and the templars, I would. And if I thought that it would end Corypheus, I would. In a heartbeat, Hissera. Because I am so very tired of it all.”

The wind whipped around them, catching at the long tails of Kaaras’s tunic and making them snap back and forth. She could feel the muscles in her thighs tighten to keep her in place and shifted her feet a little farther apart. The air stilled around them, and she waited there in the silence.

“I failed.” His voice broke on the words, and she looked over at him, afraid for him for the first time in all these months with the Inquisition.

“You didn’t fail,” she scolded him. “You made the best of a raging shit storm that — at the very best — would have enslaved every Grey Warden in Orlais into Corypheus’s service. You stopped that. You’ve freed them so that they can pick themselves up and start over. They can learn from this, rebuild, retool …”

“I wasn’t talking about them, Hissera,” he said in a harsh whisper. “I failed her. Hawke. I gave her my word, and I failed.”

She frowned at him, pivoting on the railing so that she could face him squarely. “The only promise you made to Hawke was that you would listen to her and her Grey Warden friend. You did that. The fact that it led us here, to this disaster — which we neatly averted — has nothing to do with any promise you made to Hawke. It only has to do with you.”

The voice hissed from his throat, filled with the agony of the loss that he believed that he had caused. “What do you mean by that? Are you trying to tell me that I don’t deserve to feel right now, Hissera?”

“No. You don’t.”

Her words stopped him, and she noticed his other hand tighten on the granite. Slowly, he turned to face her, and she felt another shiver of fear race through her. There it was again, an emotion crossing his face. And this time, it took longer for him to shut it away. But eventually, it was gone, and he simply stood staring at her, his eyes hard pieces of amber.

“Well, maybe ‘deserve’ is the wrong word here,” she explained quickly, “but the fact is that you can’t feel right now, Kaaras. You’re a mage. Just for that you’re scary to practically everyone, even when you’re feeling absolutely anything.”

He growled deep in his throat.

“Oh, don’t think you can scare me with that tough stuff,” she laughed at him. “It comes from living in your poisonous presence for so long. I’m completely immune.” She paused and scooted closer to him. “The real problem here, Kaaras, is that you’ve accepted their name. You’re their Inquisitor. You can’t show them that you could regret anything — and I do mean anything — that happens because of their little adventures in Thedas. When you question yourself, you question them. The only way to keep them together is to never let them know how you are feeling about anything that happens. Ever.”

He sighed and looked back out over the wasteland of the Western Approach. She turned again, facing away from the desert, watching while the members of the Inquisition slowly mounted the steps to where she and Kaaras were standing. Stepping down from the railing, she listened to the rattle of her armor for a moment before she straightened, adjusting the lay of her sword belt against her hip. She took a few steps, stopping at the edge of the opening to where Kaaras was still standing on the railing. As the others neared her, she shook her head shortly and watched them all stop, waiting until she would let them through. She smiled to herself and leaned back against one of the stone uprights of Adamant Fortress.

At last, Kaaras turned toward them all, jumping down from the stonework and moving to where Varric and Stroud stood in front of the other members of the Inquisition. He stopped near them, scanning the others’ faces before he looked at the dwarf’s distraught visage. Hissera angled her gaze so that she could watch her brother from the corners of her eyes, but he was in control again, the stern mask that he usually wore firmly in place.

“She sent us back, distracted the Nightmare so that we could escape.” Kaaras’s voice was even and emotionless.

Varric nodded, running his fingers through his hair and dropping his eyes to the stones at his feet. “That’s what Stroud said. That would be her. Damn her, she had to be just like herself all the way to the end.” Raising his head, the dwarf said sadly, “I’ll have to go tell her sister. And Fenris. Maker preserve me from him. This is going to be very, very bad. Honestly,” he said, turning to walk away, “I might not survive it.”

“I’ll tell them.”

“No, really, Inquisitor. I can handle this …”

“Varric,” Kaaras said, reaching out to grasp the dwarf’s shoulder with his long fingers. “I’ll tell them.”

Varric nodded and muttered, “Thanks.”

Hissera watched the two men move toward the staircase that would lead them out of Adamant Fortress. After a moment, she hurried down the steps after them.


	26. Part Five • Chapter One • Abelas

The moonlight gleamed on the yellow-brown sand, the glow casting deep shadows in the lingering footprints that marked the direction that the Inquisitor and Varric had taken to return to Adamant Fortress. The wind that whined across the desert during the day had ebbed away, leaving the warm air still and heavy around them. 

Abelas stood in the middle of the silence, watching his family fall to pieces around him. Even Leandra seemed to sense that something was very wrong: he could see her lower lip trembling and two huge tears rolled across her cheeks. Bethany was cradled in Stroud arms, but Abelas couldn’t understand whether they were joyful or sorrowful. It was obvious to him that the Grey Warden Lieutenant had learned that his lover was pregnant, but she also needed time to understand what had happened to her sister — and from the tension he could see — why Stroud had let it happen at all. Rhoane was silent, sitting on a rock at the edge of their camp and staring out over the sand that shifted in the steady wind.

And then there was Fenris. The lyrium-branded elf’s reaction worried him most of all.

He shifted his daughter in his arms, listening to her snuffle against his shoulder for a moment before he started toward his wife.

“Ma vhenan,” he whispered, leaning toward her so that he could press his lips to her raven-wing black hair, “where are you?”

Reaching up, she took Leandra into her arms, gently patting the little girl’s back to try to soothe her tears away. Abelas watched his wife tuck her face down by her daughter’s, her hair cascading to hide her from him. With one finger, he tucked her long locks away from her face and then tipped her chin so that he could look into her deep, brown eyes. “Perhaps you and Leandra should retire. We all need time before we can decide what to do now.”

“I know,” she said softly. “You’re right, of course. I … I’m just not sure.”

“Please, let me,” he suggested. “The morning will make it easier to begin.”

When she agreed, he let himself stop holding his breath and followed her into their tent, helping her settle on their pallet with Leandra beside her, leaving a lamp glowing softly so that he would not disturb them when he came to sleep himself. When he had returned to the remains of their campfire, he found that Bethany and Stroud had also retired, leaving Fenris staring into the red-orange glow of the coals. Abelas walked to the other elf’s side and sat next to him, holding out one of the bottles that he had brought with him, hearing it clink against a spike of the black armor.

“No, my friend,” Fenris said, shaking his head. “I think not tonight.”

Abelas laughed lightly. “She has made you drink before. Why not now?”

He could hear the lyrium-branded elf’s voice catch when he answered. “I need to remember. Absolutely everything about her. I have to feel her with every beat of my heart.”

“That is how you lived with her,” Abelas said, dragging the cork from the bottle. “It only makes sense now.” He took a drink, savoring the lingering bitterness that remained after he had swallowed. To him, it was a reminder of the decisions that had left him and Jaya’s sisters in the desert, waiting instead of working to help their family return to them whole. But they weren’t members of the Inquisition, and it had been the Inquisitor’s decision. They would live with the bitter results, but even the taste of their failure would be washed away in time. It seemed most likely now that Fenris would return to his previous life, the hand of vengeance against the manipulations and weaknesses of all mages. A shiver of fear raced through Abelas, thinking of the pools of blood that would be spilled in the elf’s wake. He took another drink and stared into the remains of the fire.

Darkness in this wasteland was so different from the daytime: the wind disappeared and the temperature plummeted, making the fire a necessity for more than their cooking. He tossed fuel into the little pit, watching the greedy little flames spring to life and lick up around the edges. To him, there was something soothing in watching the fire burn, knowing that the blaze would always act like that, always pursuing the destruction of anything in its path. That it would burn without consideration, kill without thinking.

That was what Fenris could become, if they were unable to find another focus for his pain. If he were completely honest, he was surprised that the lyrium-branded elf hadn’t left already, searching the wasteland for hidden pockets of mages so that he could find some kind of relief. It was possible that Abelas could use Hawke’s devotion to her sisters to keep him from leaving them, but now wasn’t the time for that. Tomorrow would be soon enough determine what they needed to do and the tools that they could use to keep their friend safe.

No, that wasn’t enough. He was their brother now. He had loved one of the sisters, just as Abelas did. They were brothers by the fire that those women stirred in their blood, by the passion of their relationships, and by the hope that they had tried to build in the forests of the Hunterhorn Mountains. If he couldn’t find a way to save his brother from the habits of his life as a slave, he would have lost both a sister and a brother in the space of a day.

He was still lost in his thoughts, trying to find a way to keep his brother with them when Fenris said, “No, I was wrong. It’s too much. Hand me that bottle, Abelas.”

Without saying a word, he extended the wine to his friend, watching from the corner of his eye as Fenris took a deep swallow, shaking his head when the alcohol started to seep into his body. In three more long drinks, the bottle was empty, and the lyrium-branded elf drew back his arm and hurled the container into the darkness. Abelas handed him another, and settled down for a long night.

Fenris was almost finished with their third bottle when he slipped from the rock that he had been sitting on, landing on the sand and tipping onto one elbow. When he had drained the last of the wine, he sent it into the darkness to lie shattered with its brothers. Abelas wondered how many more bottles he would need — he had only managed to bring four from inside the tent — because he knew how long it had been since the other elf had drunk so much. Since they had been in Antiva City, he was certain. And that evening that he remembered, Fenris had been drinking about Hawke then, too. But at least they had known that she was still in the house. Today …

“Did I ever tell you that I emptied out the cellars of my master’s house in Kirkwall?” Fenris asked. “I think … I think that I shared one of the best bottles with Hawke on a quieter night there. She would have stayed with me then if I still hadn’t been so wrapped up in my vendetta against my master. Former master. Dead master. She made that happen, too. Fasta vass, she did everything. She was everything …”

Picking up the bottle from Fenris’s loose grip, Abelas took a quick sip and raised it to the star-strewn sky. “To Jaya Hawke,” he whispered, placing it back on the ground beside him. Looking over, he noticed that the lyrium-branded elf had dozed off. Obviously, his tolerance for alcohol had been reduced over the long months since Antiva City, just as Abelas had suspected. He rose to his feet and stretched, looking around the perimeter of their camp and moving to where his bow was looped over a tent pole.

One pass around the camp, he told himself, and then in to your bed. Let the mage wards do their work tonight.

He was about to step away from the front of his tent when he heard Rhoane talking in her sleep. Since she had become pregnant with Leandra, she had been quiet at night. Until she started dreaming again. Moving toward the flap, he reached to open it, but the sound stopped. He waited for a few moments, but it seemed that she had fallen more deeply asleep. Turning toward the wilderness, he slipped the bow over his shoulder and started into the darkness. The scream from his tent stopped him.

Rhoane rushed from beneath the canvas, panting quickly, her hair in a wild disarray around her face. She looked around the campfire and rushed over to Fenris’s side, shaking him violently until he started awake. His warrior’s training took over, and he shot upright in front of her, looking into her face.

“She’s alive!”

“What?” he gasped groggily, but Abelas could see the sharpening of his attention, the tightening of his muscles. “What are you talking about?”

“Jaya! She’s in the Fade. She’s still there. My mother knows that she’s there, and so does Leandra. They came to my dream, and they told me.”

Fenris shot to his feet. “You dreamed this? And you think it’s true?”

“Of course it’s true, Fenris. I dreamed it.”

“Vishante kaffas, Rhoane!” he cursed, and Abelas saw his fists close. When Fenris lifted his hands, he took a step closer to his wife, afraid that the lyrium-branded elf was less in control than he thought. “She was left behind by people that we trusted. She’s de- …”

Fenris’s voice stopped suddenly, and Abelas could see his jaw tighten, the golden eyes filling with tears that then rolled across his cheeks, washing away the dust that had settled on his skin. He wobbled in front of Rhoane, collapsing to his knees, his fingers plunging into the sand and gripping together. Throwing his head back, the elf moaned despairingly into the darkness, and his wife rushed to Fenris’s side, wrapping her arms around him. While he watched, the patterns of the lyrium branding begin to glow, blue-white in the black night of the desert, lighting the harsh angles of sorrow on the elf’s face. But no matter how much pain his brother was feeling, Abelas was more afraid for his wife, who seemed to be trying to ignore whatever effect the patterns were having on her. He took another step toward her, intent on pulling her away from any danger.

Stroud and Bethany spilled from their tent, and he was suddenly aware that Leandra was crying. Catching his sister-in-law’s eye, he nodded toward his daughter, and she quickly returned with the baby cuddled against her chest.

“Maker’s breath, Rhoane,” she protested, “what’s going on here?”

“She’s alive. We have to go get her.”

Abelas heard Bethany gasp, and Stroud’s curse cut through the quiet.

“No, Rhoane,” Fenris ground out between his teeth. “Tell the truth. You dreamed that she’s alive. You have no real evidence. It’s not a fact. It’s what you want.”

His wife released the embrace that she had on the elf’s shoulders and pushed away from him. “Yes,” she hissed at him, “it’s what I want. It’s what I devoutly want to be the truth. Because it’s the only way that I stop all of us living with broken hearts for the rest of our lives. And you most of all, Fenris. Because none of us deserves to have had so little time with Jaya. We need her back, and I’m going to get her.”

“Where?” Bethany asked, rocking Leandra in her arms in a way that looked completely natural. “How do we do it?”

Rhoane started pacing around the fire. “We need to find a place where the Veil is thin. Now we could waste time trying to find one of the rifts that the Inquisitor is supposed to be closing, but I think I know somewhere else that we can go that would equally as effective.”

Abelas walked to her side and helped Rhoane to her feet. “Where can we go then, ma vhenan? Will we not simply be wasting time to chase across Thedas, when there may be an opportunity closer at hand?”

She shook her head. “I … there are resources closer by where I’m planning to go. People and things that we might need once we have Jaya back.”

“You’re going to drag us all behind you on a whim?” the white-haired elf said bitterly.

“It’s not a whim,” Bethany said slowly from the other side of the fire. “We all know that Rhoane’s dreams helped her find the eluvian and cure the Grey Wardens. I might not have believed her stories before, but … I have to now.” Abelas saw her look over at Stroud and smile softly. “We all have to believe it now. Her dreams are something more.”

Abelas walked over to where the lyrium-branded elf was still kneeling on the sand and extended his arm to help him to stand. His eyes locked with Fenris’s, and he knew he had to speak.

“Believe her. She would not hold out false hope to you.”

Fenris shrugged. “I have few other choices.” He looked over at Rhoane and shrugged again. “Where do you suggest we attempt this madness?”

She stopped her pacing and looked quickly around the fire circle at all their faces. “In my experience, there’s one place where the Veil is consistently thin and always in danger of tearing. We need to go back near the Grey Warden fortress at Amaranthine and the Blackmarsh.”


	27. Part Five • Chapter Two • Rhoane Amell

The soft tapping of her boots echoed around the walls of the throne room at Vigil’s Keep at Amaranthine, a steady beat that did nothing to soothe the jittering of her nerves. She probably would have felt less nervous — less like her entire being was going to shake apart at any moment — if she had slept for more than a couple of hours in the last days. Days that they had spent racing from one side of Thedas to the other, simply to discover whether they would be able to find what they had lost. She had been the driving force behind their headlong flight across Orlais and Ferelden, and she had let nothing stand in their way. Including her own well-being.

Even Abelas hadn’t been able to reason with her, but he had a sulky Leandra to deal with, so tight had been Rhoane’s focus on returning to the keep where she had been the Warden Commander. Stroud had kept them from killing themselves outright by keeping to a militaristic timetable of travel, meals, and watches, and Rhoane had allowed him to organize their lives like a forced march. Fenris brooded, but he followed — or more commonly, walked or rode at the head of their group, rushing away from them at the least sign of danger and usually returning with his black armor spattered with blood. But at least he had always returned. Tomorrow might be another story completely.

At the far end of the gallery, she turned and crossed to the other side of the hall, starting back toward the front where she had stood with her seneschal to hand out the decisions that had helped her establish and strengthen the outpost here. They had managed to do so much in the time that she had been here, and the Silver Order — the men and women who had come into the Grey Wardens here — were becoming a strong fighting force. At least the ones who hadn’t been drawn away by the lies that Corypheus had spread through his agents along the coast. The fact that they had traveled this far into Ferelden bothered her, especially since most of the Order would still consider King Alistair a Grey Warden. Had they thought to bring him under the influence of the corrupted magister, too? What would it have meant if Alistair had left Ferelden and been among the men and women who had gathered at Adamant in the Western Approach? From what she had learned, the fighters among the Grey Wardens had had their blood spilled across the uncaring stone of the Fortress so that the mages could be bound with a creature from the Fade. Would Alistair have been one of those men sacrificed to give Corypheus his demonic army?

She couldn’t think about it — didn’t have to think about it — because she knew that the king was still safely ensconced in his castle in Denerim. And from what the Inquisitor had said about the ancient Tevinter magister, Corypheus never stayed with one course of action after it had been broken by the Inquisition. He would move on and leave the Grey Wardens in Orlais to pick up the tatters of the men and women who had survived and rebuild the Order as they could. Stroud had already said that he would return after they had found Jaya, to help the Wardens find their way once again.

Rhoane was about to cross to the other side of the hall again and begin the long walk down the other side of the throne room when one of the doors leading to other parts of the Keep opened and the seneschal entered. Quickly scanning the room, he crossed to where she was now standing.

“Commander,” he said softly, studying her face in the light from the torches that lined the walls. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you how good it is to have you back.”

Rhoane shook her head and clasped her hands behind her back, staring down the long throne room at the huge doors at the far end. “You know that there’s a reason why I had Stroud ask for sanctuary for us. I haven’t returned to take up my post again, seneschal. I have to rescue my sister and then take her home. There is nothing for me here, and it seems as if those who have taken charge of the Keep and the Arling are doing an excellent job.”

“I understand, Commander,” he replied, “but could I at least say that I’m happy to know that you’re still alive.”

She smiled at him, a motion that seemed so at odds with the nervous thrum that ran through her veins. “Thank you.” Rhoane was about to start her walk across the stone floor again when she asked, “Did you manage to make the arrangements that we discussed?”

He nodded. “I found a boat that will be waiting in the smuggler’s cove for the next two nights. But that’s as long as I could get them to agree to wait for you to arrive.”

“It’s better than trying to travel all the way to the Anderfels by cart.”

“I agree. They will carry you to one of the smaller port cities near Cumberland, and our involvement will be finished.”

Extending her hand to him, she clasped the one that he offered in return and squeezed it tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You can’t know what this means to me or my family.”

The seneschal shook his head. “It’s the least that we can do for you, Commander. After everything you’ve given to Vigil’s Keep.”

After the older man had left, Rhoane resumed her pacing, trying to determine what she had forgotten and how they would proceed. The only piece of this entire puzzle that she hadn’t managed to finalize in her head was how they were actually going to tear the Veil. She remembered that Abelas’s master had used a spell on a scroll, but the paper had been consumed by the fiery demons that had passed through the gateway. Thinking of the eluvian hidden in the forest near their home, she wished that they had had time to go there and use its magic. With all of the mages that they had attracted to their safe-haven, they wouldn’t have needed mana-rich potions to activate the eluvian’s magic. If only …

She continued to pace until the others began to join her in the throne room, each emerging from the relative comfort of their spare Grey Warden accommodations when they had awakened. Bethany was the last to arrive, although she was up shortly after the sunrise, because they had all agreed that she needed as much rest as she could possibly get. Thankfully, she had stopped having the morning sickness that had plagued her until the battle at Adamant, and Rhoane found hope in her improved color and stamina. If they could get home, Bethany could finish her pregnancy in relative safety and comfort, and there would another member of the next generations of Hawkes.

They moved out into the courtyard, where the smithy was already plying the bellows to stoke up the great fire in his forge and the commander of the Silver Order was giving her instructions to the members of the next watch. Silently, they passed through the great stone gateway that skilled dwarven craftsmen had retooled and improved after Rhoane had found materials for their labors. Down the long road that led toward Denerim, they trotted along, still silent, still uncertain of what was awaiting them in the Blackmarsh.

“‘Nothing’s ever called the “Kitten-Marsh,’” Fenris had recalled Anders saying to Varric once in Kirkwall when Rhoane had told him where they needed to go. She had known that he meant it as a warning to everyone who had been standing around their campfire: the Blackmarsh had earned its name over generations because of the wickedness of its former residents and the evil that still prowled in the dark, twisted shadows. He was right, of course, because Rhoane had been sent into the Fade in the Blackmarsh by some kind of magical device, and she had been threatened there by the prideful spirit of the Duchess. It was only when she had defeated the demon of the Blackmarsh that she had been able to cross the Veil again and return to Amaranthine. They had all hoped then that the swamp had been purged of its evil, and many people had tried to reclaim the land and the manor house that sat in the middle of it. But they failed. The Blackmarsh was equally as black today as it had been when Rhoane was the Warden Commander at Vigil’s Keep.

She led them through the short tunnel that connected the swamp with the fertile land of the arlings around Amaranthine, along the sandy causeway, and up to the gates that had once divided the land around the manor house from the rest of the Blackmarsh. But the gates had been torn down, probably by squatters who had thought to take the land for themselves. Dismounting her horse, she led the mare to the inner courtyard and looked up at the ancient edifice of the manor of the Duchess of the Blackmarsh.

The house was two parts decay and one part rejuvenation. Someone in the past few years had tried to repair the facade, repainting the shutters in a garish red that gave the upper windows the appearance of tired, angry eyes that stared up at the hills that surrounded the swamp. At some point, someone had also tried to whitewash the weathered, grey boards of the lower floors of the building, but they seemed to have stopped almost before they had begun. Rhoane looked up at the manor and gritted her teeth together. This was where they would begin.

Handing her reins to Stroud, she walked the perimeter of the inner courtyard to be certain that there were no hidden dangers. When she was satisfied, she walked it again, drawing mana to her and testing against the Veil as she went. After Bethany had seen what she was doing, she started in the opposite direction from where Rhoane had begun, crossing each other until they met again and walked to the point that they suspected was the most vulnerable. They both had felt it. It was where they would have to make their attempt.

She spoke briefly with Bethany and then walked to where Abelas was standing with his bow in his hands. Leandra was toddling across the dirty pavement of the forecourt, her arms splayed out to the side. When she saw Rhoane, she said, “Mama,” and started toward her mother, extending her arms to be lifted. The Hero of Ferelden scooped her daughter up and hugged her tightly to her chest, dropping a tender kiss on the baby’s hair.

“We’ve found a weaker point in the Veil that we will try to exploit.” She looked over to see that Stroud and Fenris were also listening. “Bethany and I will focus our magic there, but you, Fenris, and Stroud should be ready for anything that manages to escape while we are searching for Jaya. Nothing that comes through before we return can be allowed to survive. Nothing.”

“I understand, ma vhenan,” Abelas replied solemnly. “Nothing except the ones whom we love will be allowed to exit the Fade.”

“Thank you,” she said gently, reaching up to lay the palm of her hand against his face and leaning closer to press a kiss to his lips. She lingered there for a long moment and then reluctantly pulled away.

“Return to me,” Abelas whispered in a voice only she could hear. “I cannot live without my heart.”

Rhoane smiled softly and tried to place Leandra in her father’s arms, but the little girl wanted to be down and walking across the courtyard. She let her go, knowing that someone would watch her no matter where she went. When Bethany had finished speaking to Stroud, they crossed to where they had both sensed the weakness in the Veil and removed their staffs from their holders on their backs.

“Air first, I should think,” Rhoane said and saw Bethany nod. “Then we should be able to use whatever we have available offensively to tear it apart.”

They focused their power, concentrating on the place where they could both sense the weakness, alternating fire and ice, creating tiny needles of power designed to pierce through the thin barrier between them and the land of dreams and magic. Working together, they cast and cast again, each burst of energy landing exactly where they intended. Repeatedly, they aimed and fired, until Bethany collapsed from exhaustion at Rhoane’s side.

“You must stop, Commander,” Stroud called to her, rushing to take her sister into his arms. “You cannot break it. There is no way in.”

Growling in frustration, Rhoane threw another burst of energy at the barrier and turned sharply away. She looked up at the red-rimmed eyes of the house, seeing her own anger reflected back at her in the milky glass that filled the frames. Without thinking, she sent a burst of power toward the second story, shattering the panes that were still enough intact. They shattered, raining down into the rooms behind them in sparkling little bits of dust.

She drew in a deep breath, angry with herself that she had let her frustration get the better of her. But she had known, just as Stroud had, that they weren’t succeeding in getting through the Veil. She started to swivel back to the weaker area when she heard something that made her stop.

“Up!” Leandra was saying. She stood in front of Fenris with her arms extended, repeating the one word insistently. The lyrium-branded elf looked over at her questioningly, but all Rhoane could do was shrug. Bending over, Fenris carefully took the little girl in his arms and looked into her face.

Rhoane saw her daughter gently lay her fingers along the lines of lyrium branded into the white-haired elf’s throat and look up into his eyes. He stared back at her for a long moment, and the Warden Commander saw an expression of trust and understanding cross his face. Nodding slightly, he closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Leandra leaned forward and planted a kiss on his chin and suddenly the lines of lyrium started to glow.

“What … what’s happening?” Bethany asked, rising to her feet with Stroud’s help.

“By the Maker, you can’t allow her …” Stroud started across the courtyard, but Rhoane reached out and caught his arm before he had taken more than two steps.

“No,” she whispered urgently. “Don’t move. You have to let her try.”

Stroud turned angrily to face her. “She is an infant. She cannot know … know anything about this. Maker’s breath, Rhoane, can you lose her so easily?”

“I can trust her that easily, Stroud. She’s my daughter, and I know what she might be able to do.”

When she looked over at the elf and the little girl, the nimbus of blue-white light was expanding around the pair. There was so much energy racing through the two of them that her baby-soft hair began to lift away from her head, floating around her like a thundercloud. After a few more moments, the little girl turned, leaving one hand pressed into Fenris’s throat and reaching out her other hand to place it on the bare skin of the elf’s arm. At her touch, he opened his eyes and extended that arm, curling back his fingers and pressing his palm toward the weakness in the Veil.

The moment that Leandra touched Fenris’s arm, the quality of the energy swirling around the little girl changed. Tendrils of golden light seemed to rise up out of her skin and twine into the frosty blue of the glow of the lyrium, wrapping into the magic of the elf’s markings and extending it out farther, closer to the place where Bethany and Rhoane had been concentrating their own spells. Their energy patterns twisted and swirled around each other, reaching out and seeming to disappear when they touched the barrier.

Leandra yelled suddenly. “No!”

And the Veil tore.

Grabbing hold of Bethany’s arm, Rhoane raced toward the rent in the barrier between her world and the real world. Together, they jumped into the Fade, and she took a moment to look over her shoulder. Leandra was yawning hugely and rubbing her little fists against her eyes. Abelas came up and took her into his arms, settling her into the sling that would hold her against his body and leave his arms free to fire his bow.

In the next moment, the opening winked shut, and she and Bethany were alone in the Fade.

Rhoane looked around and realized that they hadn’t crossed in the same place where they had been standing in the real world. They were in the uneven, rocky hills to one side of the manor, close to the place where she had entered the Fade the first time she had been propelled through by someone else’s magic. She studied the terrain for a moment and then turned to look out over the bay that backed on to the manor.

“Over there, Bethany,” she said, pointing at the house in the distance. “That’s where the manor is. We can start there.”

“Do you know where she is?” her sister asked, trotting down the slope through the rocky hills. “Or did we just come here as a starting place?”

Rhoane was about to answer when she heard the guttural roar of a demon. It oozed up the path, its yellow eyes gleaming at them. Because Bethany had started toward the manor first, she was the target for the demon as it moved up the trail, and she quickly planted her feet and fired a blast of cold at the creature. Seeing that her sister had started offensively, the Hero of Ferelden cast a shield around her and then stamped her staff into the earth to try to throw off the demon’s balance. It stuttered backward, and Bethany managed to freeze it in place. Together, they rushed down the path, striking the icy creature with their staffs at the same time and shattering it across the landscape.

Rhoane was about to congratulate her sister when she saw a form on the top of one of the surrounding crags, but just as quickly, it disappeared. She frowned and sent Bethany down the path in front of her, looking over her shoulder at regular intervals. They were about to walk through the first set of gates when Rhoane heard someone calling to her.

“Commander!”

A spirit was rushing across the ground toward her, its form reflecting an image of long-forgotten armor, a visored helmet. The surprising thing was the young woman who was running at his side, waving wildly at her.

“Mama!”

Bethany gasped and caught hold of her arm. “Is that … is that Leandra?” Rhoane was equally as surprised, because the young lady was older than any representation of herself that her daughter had shown in the past. But as the girl had told her in the past, she could be anything she wanted to be in the Fade.

Rhoane and Bethany stopped and waited for the spirits to reach them. The armored man stopped farther away than the girl did, seeming to be reluctant to interfere with the other entity’s desire to meet her family.

“Mama,” the image of the older Leandra said, throwing her arms around Rhoane’s neck and hugging her tightly. Half-heartedly, the Warden Commander returned the embrace, keeping her staff tightly held in her hand.

“Do you still have to be so silly about this, Mother?” the girl asked. “You’ve met me here before enough times that you should know it’s me.”

“I might agree, but you weren’t asleep when I crossed through the Veil. It’s hard for me to forget that.”

Pointing at herself, the spirit laughed, “Still a baby, Mama. Falling asleep isn’t that hard for me. And I had to come and find Justice, because he’s the one who rescued Auntie Jaya from the Nightmare.”

With those words, the armored spirit stepped forward, removing his helmet. Rhoane could see the ghostly face of the entity that she had met long ago on the grounds of the manor house, the spirit that had been sucked into the real world and had eventually been allowed to share Anders’s body. She studied the blurred image that seemed to shudder between the face that Justice had worn before he had been dragged into the real world, the image of the corpse that he had first adopted, and Ander’s pained expression.

“Commander, I am pleased to see you again. And so much sooner that I had expected.”

She raised one eyebrow at him. “You were expecting me? How?”

He seemed to sigh and started walking toward the manor. Rhoane fell in step beside him, and she could hear Bethany and Leandra chatting behind her. Truly, she wanted to hear what her daughter was discussing with her sister, but bringing Jaya home was more important.

“I have kept Hawke alive, but she has a grave injury. You must remove her from the Fade as soon as you possibly can.”

“Agreed. But how did you find her?”

The spirit of Justice shrugged. “I heard her call to me across the Fade, but it was Leandra who led me to her while she was still locked in her battle. Together, we managed to extricate her and bring her here.”

Rhoane looked over at him. “I know that you will be honest with me, Justice. Is that really my daughter walking in the Fade, or is it another spirit who is representing itself as her.”

“Commander, it is your daughter. And one day, she will be a great mage.”

Rhoane hadn’t known that she was holding her breath until it escaped her body in one huge exhale. Everything that she had ever been taught about the realm of dreams had told her to never trust the beings there, but she had known Justice in and out of the Fade. There was no reason to doubt what he had told her, because, even having returned, the spirit that was Justice would still truly represent what he had always been.

“All right,” she relented. “Where’s my sister?”

Justice pointed toward the manor house. “We are lucky that you chose to come through the Veil here,” he said, looking at her from the corners of his eyes. “Or perhaps you knew in some way where she would be. But no matter. You need to be gone. The sooner, the better, Commander.”

The version of the manor that remained in the Fade was even more dilapidated than the one in the real world. Here, the color on the red shutters had run down the facade, making the house look as if it were weeping tears of blood. The door was barely hanging on one hinge, tipping drunkenly across the opening. Gathering the energy of the Fade to her, Rhoane grasped the pull and blew the carved wood into the courtyard, watching it fly into the deep shadows beside the wall. She followed Justice up the long staircase, carefully avoiding the places where the stairs had been rotted away and she could see only darkness underfoot.

On the second level, Justice led them to a small bedchamber, and Rhoane rushed past him to find Jaya lying on the remains of a tall-posted bed. The curtains hung in shreds, dripping remnants of fabric that stirred when she approached the bed and brushed across her face like ghostly fingers. She pushed them aside and looked down at her sister.

Jaya was pale, her skin white with deep purple circles around her eyes. Rhoane’s quick scan of her body showed that her sister still had all her limbs and that most of her armor was intact, but she could also see that her undershirt had been removed. Reluctantly, she opened the clasps on Jaya’s breastplate and, gritting her teeth, she carefully lifted it.

Her sister moaned heavily, and Rhoane saw Bethany rush to Jaya’s other side. Someone had managed to stuff the undershirt against the Champion of Kirkwall’s side, but she could see that it was stained dark red, steeped in her sister’s blood.

“Bethany,” she said, “are you able to do healing for her? Here in the Fade, you should have better access to mana for your spellwork. Do you want to try here?”

“Yes,” her youngest sister said firmly. She reached for the edges of the cloth and began to pull them away, but Jaya moaned loudly and flinched away from the pain of the dried blood tearing her skin. “Maker! I have to remove this to see the wound, but I …” her voice caught on a sob, “I can’t hurt her to take this cloth away.”

Rhoane thought for a moment. “If we freeze the cloth and then warm the air above it …”

“We should be able to introduce enough moisture into the cloth to get it to release,” Bethany said. “We need to try not to freeze her skin, though.”

“Fine. I’ll do that, you start gathering energy so that you can heal immediately when the cloth is away.”

She saw Bethany nod and started her own spell-casting immediately. Rhoane was able to ease the blood-soaked fabric away from Jaya’s skin, hearing the gasps from both of her sisters when the wound was exposed to the air. Immediately, Bethany started applying healing magic to the long, deep gash in her sister’s side, and Rhoane could feel the immense flow of energy that looped through her two sisters. After watching for a while, she began to understand what Bethany was doing, and she extended her own magic into the places where Jaya was less grievously injured.

Time passed without her even noticing, until she felt a touch to her shoulder. Stopping the magic circulating through her, she looked up and saw her daughter behind her. “You don’t have much more time, Mama,” she said quietly. “It’s time for me to help Uncle Fenris open the portal again, and you have to be in place when it’s there. Whatever you’ve done, it has to be enough.”

“Thank you, Leandra,” she said, watching the young woman rush out of the room. She turned to Bethany and explained the situation to her. Her sister frowned at her.

“No, I have to do more. I’m not sure she can survive if we take her now.”

“She has to, Bethany. None of us will live through it if we can’t go back to our family.”

Sighing harshly, her sister nodded and tied off the strings of the healings that she had been able to work. When she was done, Rhoane helped tear her own shirt into long strips and wrap them tightly around her sister’s torso.

“That’s the best we can do,” Bethany said, rising from the bed. “I will be honest with you, Rhoane. I’m not certain how much of the injury I managed to close, and I’m afraid that its not completely clean, considering how long she’s been here alone. She’ll probably have a fever after we get her out of here. But I think she should be okay to move. Slowly and carefully.”

“When we get her into the courtyard,” Rhoane suggested, “we can use our air magic to create a cushion under her that we can propel to get back to the opening. If you’re ready, we should …”

“Thank you,” a gasping voice said from the doorway. Rhoane saw Bethany stiffen and slowly look over her shoulder.

“Mother?”

The two Grey Wardens turned and saw the spirit that had told Rhoane she was Leandra Amell. She couldn’t move, but Bethany walked to where the entity was standing, seeming to study her face in minute detail.

“You saved her,” the older Leandra breathed. 

“Who are you?” Rhoane could hear anger in her sister’s voice.

“It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to thank you for taking care of your sister, Bethany. I’ve been watching her since she managed to get here. I begged the Maker to keep her safe and then you came. Thank you.”

Rhoane realized that if she was going to trust what Justice had told her about her daughter, she had to believe the same thing about what the younger Leandra had told her about this spirit. Stepping up to Bethany’s side, she took her sister’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “You’re welcome, Leandra,” she said softly. “We appreciate that you’ve been with her, but we have to take her now. Either that or we have to stay here forever.”

She could see sparkling tears spilling down her mother’s cheeks, but there was also a sense of resolute acceptance of the truth. “My girls,” the spirit whispered. “I feel so blessed that I have been able to see you again. All together.”

“I’m sorry things had to be so hard for you, Mother,” Bethany said, her own face wet with tears. “Please remember that we still love you. Even if we can’t be with you now.”

“And keep my Leandra safe when she wanders in the Fade, please,” Rhoane added.

The spirit Leandra lifted her hand and touched Bethany’s face, smiling gently over at Rhoane. And then she was gone.

Together, she and her sister carried Jaya down the stairs and lay her carefully on the balcony above the courtyard. She crafted a cushion of air that lifted her sister from the ground, sending it forward and up the slopes, back to the place where they had entered the Fade. They didn’t have long to wait before they were through the opening and back in the real Blackmarsh.

She heard the portal snap closed behind her, and the next moment, Fenris had pushed her to one side and gathered Jaya in his arms. He had to surrender her to Abelas so that he could mount his horse, and Stroud needed to put an arm around Bethany to help her away from the place where the rent in the Fade had been. Leandra toddled up to her and asked to be picked up, and it was with heartfelt joy that she tossed her little girl into the air and cuddled her close against her chest. They raced as quickly as they could, down to the coast and to the smuggler’s cove, where they found a large rowboat waiting to take them to the galleon riding the waves at anchor in the Waking Sea.

The ship’s captain was pacing the beachhead, but the moment she heard their horses’ tack rattling, she turned and waved to them.

“Hurry along, my lovelies,” Isabela called to them. “We can’t miss the tide.”


	28. Part Five • Chapter Three • Fenris

Fenris stumbled up the steep stairs from the cabins, taking a deep breath of fresh air for the first time in days. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to be up on deck, but Bethany and Rhoane had chased him out of the captain’s cabin where Jaya was resting. Or more accurately, alternately shivering with bone-jarring chills or burning with fever. He had been at her side since they had managed to get her on board, wiping the sweat that poured across her face away with cool cloths or gathering her tightly against his own body when she shook from her deep, internal cold. Sleep had eluded him, and both of Hawke’s sisters had sent him away so that he could get some rest.

But first, he would have to find a way to push all of his fears aside.

He had been overwhelmingly grateful when Rhoane and Bethany had slipped back through the opening to the Fade with Jaya between them. So grateful that he barely remembered treating the Hero of Ferelden rather brusquely when he had rushed to take Hawke in his arms. Bethany had snapped at him, and Stroud had called for him to be more careful, but he had borne all their remonstrations easily. Nothing else had mattered except that Jaya had been returned to him.

But she wasn’t really back. She shivered and burned from the wound that festered in her side. Although he knew that Bethany had done the best that she possibly could, her sister was still unconscious, lost somewhere in her own fevered dreams. Until she awoke, she had yet to come back to him, and he couldn’t leave her until he knew.

One way or the other.

It had taken Bethany, Rhoane, and Abelas to convince him to leave that morning. In days past when they had come to nurse Jaya, the sisters had allowed him to stay and help them gently reposition her. But not today. He wondered idly what they had planned, whether they were going to try some more magical healing to help their sister recover. Or perhaps they were going to change the bedding beneath her, a process that usually made Jaya cry out in pain — cries that sent pain lancing through him, too. Or perhaps …

No, he told himself, shaking his head while he moved to the railing of the tall ship, he couldn’t let the darker possibilities into his mind right now. If they came to their own fruition, he would face them. For now, he would gather up the thin threads of hope where he could find them and bind them together. If they were strong enough, they might keep him from the black despair that lurked in the corners of his mind.

When he reached the railing, he placed his palms on it and leaned forward so that he could look out over the churning of the Waking Sea. The deep, blue waters curled around the ship, trailing frothing pathways of foam where the ship had passed. If he stared long enough into the sea, he thought that he could define shapes that raced along with the vessel, cutting in close and then peeling away beneath the surface, never quite revealing what exactly they were. He watched them idly for a few minutes, but they couldn’t provide enough of a distraction from the thoughts that raced through his own mind.

“You know, I rarely invite men into my cabin and then let them bring in other women,” Isabela said, coming down from her usual position at the stern of the ship. “Unless I’m invited along, of course.”

Fenris grunted as a reply and kept his eyes focused on the passing waves. Trying to spar verbally with Isabela would only get him into trouble: he was much too tired to be able to keep up with the pirate’s jabs and side-steps. Better to simply stand still and absorb the blows that would come.

And as he knew she would, Isabela didn’t give up. “I’m glad they managed to get you out of the cabin for a while. You’re looking positively ghostly, Fenris.”

“I always look like this. You know that.”

She chuckled. “If you could see yourself, you wouldn’t say that. I would offer you a mirror, but I think someone told my cabin boy that it’s unlucky to keep them on a ship. They’re probably all at the bottom of the Waking Sea by now. So I have to rely on him to tell me how beautiful I am each morning.”

Fenris snorted and looked over at the pirate. “You obviously have not suffered for lack of your glass, Isabela.”

Grinning widely, she replied, “Thank you, Fenris. I tell myself that’s it’s because I’m back where I belong. All those years away from the sea in Kirkwall — they were poison to me. Maybe all of us.”

Fenris grunted again. He couldn’t completely agree, because his relationship with Hawke had started and blossomed in the city. But then, it had also been damaged there. It was only when they had left Kirkwall that they had truly been able to find each other. And now, being completely honest, that time that they had spent together seemed much too short. All he could think was that he needed more time with her. Like the rest of their lives.

“I see that she’s finally managed to get you out of that spiky armor, too,” she teased him. “But I suppose it’s hard to keep someone else warm when you’re dressed in metal.”

Fenris could feel his patience stretching. “Look, Isabela, I know that …”

She interrupted, stepping closer to him and putting a hand on his arm, “Lovely, you’re acting as if I don’t know what’s going on. I know that you’re teetering on the edge of a knife blade, and we’re all trying to find ways to help you keep your balance. I’m probably not the best person to be doing this, because most people will say that there are only two things that I take seriously: drinking and gambling. Oh, and sex. I take that very seriously, at least when it comes to …”

“Isabela!” Fenris snapped.

“Oh, all right. But do you really want to tell me how you’re feeling?”

“Fasta vass, no!” he exclaimed.

“Then could I convince you come down to my cabin with me?”

He froze, staring at the white froth that curled over the tops of the waves for as far as he could see. Trying to parse the meaning from the pirate’s words was like trying to find a ship on the docks of Kirkwall in the fog: his brain was simply too tired and too filled with mist for him to know what the intention behind her invitation was. Slowly, keeping any expression from his face, he looked up at her and saw Isabela smiling wickedly at him.

“Are you suggesting …” he began slowly.

“Yes, yes, Fenris.” He could see her eyes gleaming at him. “I’m trying to get you into my bed.” When he frowned deeply at her, she started laughing, loud and long, and then added, “So that you can sleep, lovely. I’ve had plenty of updates from Zevran, so I’m well aware of the progress you two have made. Finally.”

“Isabela, you are a demon.”

“Especially in bed.” When he growled deeply in his throat, she chuckled lightly. “Oh, all right, Fenris. I’ll stop. Rhoane and Bethany made me swear on my ship that I would get you to sleep for a few hours. Smart move that. If they’d asked me to swear on my life, I’d never have tried so hard.”

“I don’t want to leave her.” He turned back to the waves, his fingers clenching on the railing.

Isabela stepped closer and leaned one of her hips near his hand, crossing her arms under her full breasts. “So, if I can’t seduce you into my room with the offer of sleep, how about a wager?”

“My head wouldn’t be much good for cards right now.”

She shook her head. “I was thinking about something more physical.” Holding up her hands, she continued, “And before you say anything, we would be here, above decks. Three touches, and you sleep in my cabin. You touch me even once, and I tell Rhoane and Bethany that I did my best.”

“I’ll have to get my halberd.”

Isabela shook her head. “I trust you, Fenris, but I’m not quite so trusting with the sea. One wrong tip of the ship, and my cabin boy will have to lie to me every morning.” She rolled across the deck and picked up a mop that was resting against the main mast. Tugging the handle free, she tossed it to Fenris. “There you are, lovely. And I …” She pulled two pegs that usually held rope in place loose and hefted them like knives. “Well, I’m armed, too.” Isabela walked across the deck away from him and turned, a smirk crossing her face. “Shall we play?”

He grinned wickedly, swinging the long stick around him in the same motion that he would have used with his halberd, testing the balance and weight. When he felt that he had strict control of his new weapon, he took a defensive pose, looking over at Isabela and lifting one eyebrow. She smiled back and dropped into a low crouch, the pegs clenched in her fists like the daggers she usually used. He quickly raised the stick and brought it down as if he was making an overhead strike, but in the middle of the motion, he thrust the pole forward. But Isabela was ready, twisting away from the point of his weapon and turning sideways toward him. Before he knew it, he felt her boot land in his stomach, and he reeled away, keeping his stick between himself and his attacker. He swung the pole in a long arc and then backed away.

Isabela smiled at him. “I would count my kick as a touch, Fenris, but I assume we both meant that our touches should come from our weapons. So, back to our game.”

She rushed him, feinting to one side and then plowing forward on the other. Fenris followed her with his eyes, keeping his stick ready, swinging toward her when she was within range. But Isabela ducked under the pole, sliding across the deck under its extended reach. He tried to change the path of the weapon in mid-swing, but she was already moving past him, and he felt the tap of the peg against the muscle of the back of his thigh. Turning, he brought the trailing end of the stick up over his shoulder and pushed it toward the deck where Isabela was passing by him, but the wood only met more wood when it hit.

Isabela leaped to her feet and came at him again, using her legs and well as her arms to keep him on the defensive. He circled, the pole always in motion, always on guard for the pirate’s next move, trying to use his weapon’s additional reach to keep her away from him. They moved together, the mockery of a dance to the death, her steps forward forcing him back, his doing the same for her. It went on longer than Fenris would have expected, and he could hear himself breathing heavily, more heavily than he would normally have, and his muscles started to burn. He suddenly realized how smart Isabela had been to challenge him to a mock fight, because it would exhaust him even more. Sharpening his focus, he went on the offensive, his pole moving quickly toward the pirate. She danced away, and he felt the jab of one of her pegs in his side.

“Two! This was a wonderful bet to have made!”

Fenris gasped, dropping the leading tip of his pole to the floor, which ended up being a mistake. Isabela leaped forward again, landing with one of her booted feet on the tip of his stick and snapping it out of his hands. She thrust one of the pegs toward his eyes and looked at him, the smirk slipping across her face again.

“Surrender?”

He breathed heavily, staring down the length of the peg into the pirate’s face. Finally, he nodded and let her lead him to the cabin that she was using since Jaya was in hers. After climbing into her bunk, he drifted to sleep.

When he awakened, they were docked in a village to the west of Cumberland, and Abelas and Stroud had gone to see what kind of transportation they could manage to find. Fenris quickly returned to the captain’s cabin, finding Hawke soundly asleep, her fever lower, but still looking ashen and drawn. He stayed by her side until Rhoane came to tell him that they had a wagon prepared so that they all could go home.

He carried Hawke off the galleon, crossing to the wagon that Abelas had prepared with a remarkable system of ropes that had allowed him to create a suspended cushion where Jaya could rest. After laying her gently on the padding, he walked back to Isabela and thanked her.

“You’re welcome, lovely,” she said. “If you’re ever in need again, you know where to look for me.”

He shook hands with her and walked back to the wagon. His family gathered around him, and they started their journey home.

It took them longer than they had expected, longer than any one of them had wanted it to take. The Anderfels had become a kind of refuge for people who were determined to escape the civil war in Orlais and the war between the templars and the mages, so the roadways were clogged with traffic. Bandits were also taking advantage of the disarray that the wars was causing, but if they made the mistake of attacking their little group of travelers, it was the last mistake that they ever made. They journeyed as late into the night as it was safe and rose early each morning to speed their trip home.

Finally, they arrived, in the rose glow of the early evening, greeted by Merrill, Anders, and Clement when their wagon rolled past the first few cabins. Fenris ignored their questions and carried Jaya into their room, settling her on their bed and then stepping aside so that he could remove the armor that he had been wearing during the trip. Anders came in and examined Hawke, praising Bethany for the healing that she had done before they had returned from the Fade.

“I’ve seen wounds like this before,” Anders was saying while Fenris sat down on a chair to remove his boots. “Right now, all we can do is wait for the fever to burn itself out and then … then we wait for her to wake up. I’ll stay with her tonight, if …”

“Thank you, Anders,” Rhoane said, smoothing a blanket across Jaya’s torso. “We appreciate your being with her this first night.”

Fenris continued to ignore the chatter in the room, climbing into the bed beside Jaya and settling under the blankets. The room stilled, and he raised his head to look at them all.

“This is my bed, too, and I have cared for her all these days since she was brought back to us. I will not leave her now.”

And he didn’t. For days, he stayed by her side, rarely moving from the room. He barely noticed the other people who hovered around him or the flavor of the food that they forced into his mouth. He just knew that he needed to be with her, no matter what that last moment might be.

The only times when he actually felt alive was when Leandra would toddle into the room. Every time she saw him, she insisted on being lifted into his arms, but she never placed her hands along the lyrium on his throat or arms again. Instead, she would pat his face and plant sloppy little kisses on his cheeks, babbling to him as if he might actually understand what she thought she was talking about. He would smile at her, and she would laugh back, slipping from his lap and walking back through the door to find her mother or father.

Eventually, he was the only one who spent the nights with Jaya. Anders had determined that she had survived the worst of the wound, and all that they could do was to wait for her to awaken. Bethany or Rhoane would check on her regularly at night, but Fenris was usually left alone with her, nestled close to her side, whispering to her to bring her back to him.

He had dozed off on one of those evenings, his arm beneath her head, the fingers of his hand intertwined with hers when a noise woke him. Levering up onto his elbow, he looked down into Jaya’s face and saw her mist-grey eyes staring up at him. Something in that moment made him catch his breath: he couldn’t hear the hiss of her breath or feel her heart beating against him. Had she finally slipped away from them?

“Fenris?” she whispered, and his heart thundered in his chest. Exhaling sharply, he leaned closer to her. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed it tenderly and then pressed it tightly to his cheek. “Where am I?”

“Home, my love. We’ve brought you home.”

She sighed and closed her eyes again. “I’m glad. I’d thought I was going to wake up dead. But then again … festis bei umo canavarum, Fenris. Only you will be the death of me, my darling.”

“I swear, Jaya, I will spend the rest of our lives trying to be.”

She opened her eyes and smiled a gentle, tired smile at him. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to hers. The fire of his passion for her stirred, but there would be time for them to explore those depths later. “As will I, my love. As will I.”


	29. Epilogue • Rhoane Amell

Rhoane was consulting with one of the newer mages to their village, trying to resolve an issue about a miscast spell and keep her eye on her daughter at the same time. Leandra was running in crazy circles around her cousin, Bethany and Stroud’s son, who was sucking on his thumb and watching the little girl whirl around him. Every once in a while, Leandra would dart in close to him and wriggle the fingers of one hand against his side, making him smile and giggle at her. And then she would be off again, little legs pumping urgently until she started her next loop back.

“Catch me, Malcolm!” Leandra called to her cousin, twisting like a swirling tower of air when she passed the little boy. “Catch me! Catch me!”

Malcolm finally pulled his thumb from his mouth and set off determinedly after the little girl, trapping her in a corner near their barn. It seemed that Leandra might still escape him, but she let herself be caught, dropping to her knees to hug him. They both fell to the ground, a giggling pile that squirmed to tickle each other until the little girl finally managed to extricate herself from her cousin and jump back to her feet.

Rhoane watched all of this from the corner of her eye, trying to convince the other mage that she had a deep concern for the issue that he was raising. But honestly, she knew that it would all work itself out. She was more eager to join her daughter in her carefree abandon and the laughter that was echoing between the buildings of their village. But she kept her face neutral and agreed with noises that she hoped sounded soothing.

When Bethany came out of their house, she turned her focus more completely to the mage, knowing that her sister would watch both of the children protectively. If she were asked, Rhoane would say that her youngest sister was a little overprotective of her son, but she could understand why she might feel that way. Of all of them, Bethany was the only one who had never been responsible for the well-being of others. But as much as she hovered and intervened, she would trust her son with any of them. And she would learn.

And she had help now, raising her son. Their son. Stroud had been away from them for most of the time since they had returned to the village, visiting once to inform them that the Inquisition had defeated Corypheus and the second time to witness the birth of his son. Otherwise, he had spent the years reviving the Grey Wardens in Orlais until the Order could maintain itself. In the last month, he had finally told them that he was going into the Deep Roads and then he had returned to them in the Hunterhorn Mountains.

The mage had started to repeat his complaints when Fenris and Jaya walked out from the barn, the fingers entwined, their faces glowing with happiness. Rhoane smiled back at them, especially when Leandra raced over to the elf and had him toss her up into the air. Malcolm followed, and Jaya lifted him, swinging him in a tight circle so that he giggled. Bethany walked up to them and took her son from her sister, chatting with them quietly.

Rhoane tried to extricate herself from the conversation that was beginning to wear her paitence thin, but the mage was insistent, and she listened quietly, waiting for the man to feel that he had been heard. In her heart, she wished that someone would appear and give her an excuse to simply walk away, but …

“Kaaras!” she heard Leandra calling. “Kaaras! You came!”

Turning toward the main cart track to their village, she saw two tall Qunari and a human woman walking toward them, leading horses behind them. Her daughter pelted down the track and wrapped her arms around the male Qunari’s leg, hugging it tightly. Kaaras laughed, and Rhoane saw that he scooped her daughter up with only one arm, holding on to her so that she could settle on his shoulders, her legs on either side of his neck, her hands wrapped around his horns to keep her balance. Looking over at the mage, Rhoane noticed that the lower part of his left sleeve was empty, and the hand that had held the mark of the Anchor was missing. She excused herself and started toward the party walking into the village.

“The Qunari mage from the forest,” she teased him, extending a hand toward him.

“The mage from the forest,” he answered, but he reached out his hand only reluctantly.

His sister stepped forward and hugged Rhoane tightly. “We were glad to finally be able to come. Although it took me way too long to convince him that it would be okay. I’m just glad that Josephine was on my side a lot earlier in this, because she can get him to do anything. You know how that is, right?”

“What’s that you’re saying, Hissera?” the human woman, Josephine, asked the Qunari. “Are you implying that I do anything other than simply offer sound advice to the Inquisitor?”

“Well, first of all,” Hissera replied, “we all need to stop calling him that, because there’s no more Inquisition. So if there’s no Inquisition, there’s no way that he can be an Inquisitor any more. And the other thing is, yes, you have any number of tools that you can use to manipulate my brother into doing exactly what you want. Not the least of which is that he loves you and would do pretty much anything for you. And don’t think that you can pull any of that stuff on me, because I know all your tricks.”

“Do you?” Josephine asked innocently. “I guess there’s nothing I can do but accept my defeat graciously.”

Kaaras, in the meantime, had ignored the squabbling of the two women and had bent closer to speak to Rhoane. “We should speak together. With the Champion of Kirkwall and Stroud.”

She nodded and led them into their house, showing them to rooms where they could refresh themselves. Wandering back into the yard in front of their house, she found Bethany, Jaya, and Fenris, asking the elf to go and find her husband and the former Grey Warden, and then Anders and Clement. Merrill had disappeared recently, but none of them knew why. They all came together in the common room of the house, and waited for the former Inquisitor to return.

Hissera joined them first, followed by her brother and the Inquisition’s former ambassador. Kaaras walked into the center of their group and stood there until his sister joined him, but he shook his head at her.

“I’ll handle this one, Hissera,” he said solemnly. Looking around the room, he met Rhoane’s eyes and nodded to her. She smiled encouragingly and gathered Leandra into her lap.

“All of you know that the Inquisition defeated Corypheus nearly two years ago,” Kaaras said. “In the time that followed, we continued to attract followers and maintain our army to ensure that we cleaned up all of the remnants of the magister’s forces. And in that time, we began to be viewed as a threat to both Orlais and Ferelden.”

“Because we had secured the support of the Queen by saving her life,” Josephine added, “many of the arls of Ferelden thought that we had chosen to ally ourselves with the Orlesians over them. When we had worked so hard to remain neutral to all politics in Thedas.”

“In the end,” Hissera continued, as if it was impossible for her not to speak for her brother, “the new Divine invited the representative of the kingdoms to present their arguments at Halamshiral. And the Inquisition found out that those representatives were in danger.”

“From Qunari.” Josephine added.

Rhoane gasped. “What happened?”

Kaaras interrupted the two women and continued the story. “Certain members of the Qun finally realized that the chaos had provided them an opportunity. But there was more. A member of my inner circle who had disappeared immediately after Corypheus was defeated has returned. He called himself ‘Solas’ when he was with us. And from everything that he told us, he actually is the Dread Wolf.”

Rhoane stared while the room exploded around her. Kaaras raised his hand and managed to restore the furor to a low rumble. “He is also responsible for the Veil that divides the Fade from our world. From what he has said, they were once one and the same.”

“In the time of the ancient elves,” Hissera added.

“And now he wants to tear down the Veil and restore magic to his people.”

“But wouldn’t that be good for everyone?” Bethany asked. “Mages wouldn’t be in danger of being possessed by demons and then everyone would have access to magic, right?”

Kaaras shook his head. “If the Veil falls, this world will be destroyed. It only exists because the Dread Wolf separated the elves from magic in the first place. Solas will burn all of Thedas to the ground and beyond, killing everything in it except the elves, who he believes will be able to instantaneously recover their abilities with magic to revive their lost culture.”

Abelas shook his head. “But the elves of today aren’t like the ancient elves at all. And many of us have mingled our blood with humans. It’s a thousand generations of interbreeding with no way to predict which elves are still purely elven and which are not.”

“My problem,” Kaaras said quietly, “is that Solas is trying to do exactly what Corypheus did. He wants to remake the world in the image that he sees for it, without considering what any of the people actually living here want.”

“Typical megalomanic,” Hissera said dismissively. “‘I’m the only one who knows what’s best for everyone who’s really important, so all the rest of you can just go and suck it.’”

Kaaras frowned at his sister and then continued. “And that’s why we have to stop him. We think he will arise in Tevinter, because some of our agents have tracked the elves who are responding to his call by traveling there.”

Anders looked at her and said, “That must be where Merrill has gone. Trust her to think that her people are more important than any of us.”

Rhoane shook her head. “You don’t know that, Anders. And the fact is, whatever she thinks that she will gain from going to this Solas, there will be people who will stand against him. And her, if necessary. Starting with us.” Slipping Leandra from her lap, she rose to her feet and went to stand beside the former Inquisitor. “We will start here. We’ll give you sanctuary and our support. Your goals will become our goals; your safety will be ensured. We will defeat this Solas or Dread Wolf or whoever he is, because there is value in the life of every person in Thedas.”

The former Inquisitor nodded and extended hand. Before she took it, she looked around the room at all of the worried faces staring back at her. Slowly, each of them rose to their feet: first, the Qunari’s sister, Hissera, and then Josephine. She saw Anders and Clement rise almost as one man, reaching for each other’s hands as they did. Stroud stood with Bethany, who clutched her son to her chest and nodded firmly. Jaya rose to her feet, looking straight forward at the Qunari mage, obviously ignoring Fenris and giving him the chance to make up his own mind. Rhoane saw him and Abelas exchange a long look and then they, too, rose to their feet.

“We have only one choice,” her husband said, and Fenris nodded his agreement. “We fight for our family.”

She smiled and took Kaaras’s hand. “For our family.”


End file.
